


Hiraeth

by Arithanas



Series: A Huckleberry Above My Persimmon [7]
Category: Leverage
Genre: (With many apologies), Developing Relationship, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Native American Character(s), Nothing with Eliot's easy, Quinn's POV, Recovery, Sort of..., but it's a very distinctive tradition, so this is complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26398759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: Last time, Eliot met Quinn's family without Quinn's consent and, for him, that was akin to theft, something must be done to repair it before Quinn had to fly away from his life. Besides, meeting the parents is almost as American as apple pie.
Relationships: Mr. Quinn/Eliot Spencer (Leverage)
Series: A Huckleberry Above My Persimmon [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607185
Comments: 18
Kudos: 22





	1. The house that bred you

**Author's Note:**

> _Hiraeth:_ homesickness, longing, nostalgia, and yearning, for a home that you cannot return to, no longer exists, or maybe never was. (https://sites.psu.edu/kielarpassionblog2/2016/04/02/hiraeth/)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was not the setting Eliot had planned when he deemed it was time to have Quinn meet his family of origin, but the time was as good as any.

Eliot looked at his reflection in the mirror. There was a time when he was a soldier, cold and unmoved, but he could still recognize fright in his own face, the hard lines of disgust around his mouth, and the shock in the quivering of his chin. He knew it was not a good idea to snoop around when Quinn closed the bathroom door; he couldn’t help himself. After forty minutes of waiting, Eliot got restless and barged in. Quinn was making progress, but his heart was still weak. Quinn wouldn’t be the first man having a heart attack in that particular seat.

Eliot had steeled himself against health complications but this was worse. Far worse. Eliot’s non-dominant hand caressed Quinn’s back in his constant need of providing comfort, but Quinn’s rushed words were unsettling; Eliot barely could make sense of the sounds.

“I… I don’t think it’s a good idea…” Eliot mumbled, stuttering in horror when he finally comprehended what Quinn was demanding from him.

“I know how it looks!” Quinn groaned and looked at Eliot with murder in his eyes. “It can’t stay there _forever_. Just pull it do…”

For the first time in his life, Quinn had spat some solid logic, and Eliot didn’t let his boyfriend finish: He pulled the fabric strip in one swift downward motion. It was like ripping a band-aid; the quicker the better, or so Eliot thought until Quinn’s stunned, frozen expression on the mirror made Eliot’s heart skip a beat or two. The yelp finally abandoned Quinn’s mouth and his face contorted in a pained grimace.

“Ooowwwww!”

Good, at least his boyfriend wouldn’t have a cardiac arrest from waxing his damned butt crack at home. Eliot felt the rush of anger, anger born from fear, and he embraced it wholeheartedly.

“Serves you well!” Eliot shouted his relief with the waxing strip still in his hand.

“ _Čubčí syn!_ ” Quinn cursed and hit the sink.

“And don’t even _dare_ to ask me again if I love you!” Eliot exclaimed, tossing the strip to the thrash before turning around to give Quinn’s space and privacy to finish his strange beauty rituals.

Quinn was still cursing when Eliot closed the door behind him. Of all the stupid things…

Anger began to subsume into absurd humor after the third step. It was not the first time Quinn’s habits had tackled Eliot with the force of a runaway train. The other day, after a quick Leverage job, he found Quinn dancing in the laundry room, with his earphones on, singing to himself one of The Rocky Horror Picture Show songs in German. To cap it all, Quinn had his fuck-me undies and not another stitch on. _Lieb mich, Lieb mich, Lieb mich_ indeed!

Eliot sat on the bed and pulled the carry-on they planned to take. Quinn’s medicines, his most recent ECG, and the Doctor letter declaring Quinn fit to fly still need some sorting; Eliot was still not happy with the efficacy and the speed of reach.

Traveling together, they had done that before, but this time the mood was different. He had stolen Quinn’s past, now he had to make some restitution and he was not sure if this was the right way to do it.

Eliot pulled his phone, sent Hardison a message to remind him he’s officially on vacation and smiled again at Shelley’s invitation. The selfie of Shelley and his sisters greeted him and made him feel at home. It had been years since they had a cookout like the ones Shelley’s mom threw each time they got a leave. A couple of nice restful days in Oklahoma and they would be ready to tackle Shelley’s family with the same exuberance they will hug them.

“ _Your smile_ …” Quinn’s voice tore Eliot from his inner world.

“What about it?”

Eliot looked at Quinn and smiled as his eyes roamed from those crossed arms, that shoulder against the door, that long hair falling in soft curves, that tight v-neck t-shirt, and those see-through boxer briefs. Eliot could eat him with a spoon… if only the doctors would allow it.

“I’m putting together a photo album,” Quinn explained as he tapped his temple with a finger and walked to the bed.

Eliot got up, giving up on making sense of Quinn’s quirks; he had to save something for later. They had agreed the side closer to the bathroom was Quinn’s side who was still taking diuretics. Eliot got his shirt and jeans off because they were going early to bed so they could get up early to fly to Oklahoma City.

Three weeks had made a routine for them, Eliot would wait until Quinn settled on his side to turn on the TV, then they’d argue for a movie to watch, and then they’d watch it cuddling. That was not the use Eliot had planned for the bed, but, at least, Quinn was between his arms (or his legs, if the movie was a funny one). He reminded himself to be patient, Quinn’s heart would heal and they could have loud, wild, messy sex soon enough.

“Lend me a helping hand?” Quinn asked and tossed him a dark bottle before taking his pills.

Eliot nodded and tried the contents, the clear gel felt weird on his hands. He was still wondering what the use of this could be when Quinn lifted his shirt to show him his freshly waxed belly. Eliot leaned and let his hand slid over that flat strip of skin looking into Quinn’s eyes.

“You are so horribly thin…” Eliot mumbled without thinking.

“Do you miss my abs?” Quinn asked with a small cynical smile.

“I just want you to be healthy.” Eliot squirted a bit more of gel and his eyes softened. “I miss your treasure trail.”

That was one of the joyful discoveries Eliot had made sharing a living space with Quinn: he had a pristine natural vertical strip of honey-colored hair that had grown while he was in the hospital. Eliot would have liked to lick it down at least once but now it was gone. Eliot wondered how he could grieve something he had never experienced but he did.

“That mud track had to go,” Quinn grumbled and his face looked like he was experiencing nausea. “I told you not to get attached to it.”

“It was sexy and it spread…” Eliot let his hand roam below the band of Quinn’s briefs. “It spread- _ed_ nicely down here.”

“I need soothing gel down there too if you want to be of service.”

Usually, Eliot could spot a trap without any trouble. This time was different, he was not sure if this was just Quinn’s taunting, flirty nature, or his own horniness, but it didn’t feel right to rub his slick hand around Quinn’s bits. Eliot’s not hungry; it was pure hoggishness. The same way a perfectly plated steak strained his will, Quinn’s body strained his self-control.

Quinn, without a word, pulled down those briefs that left little to the imagination to show Eliot his irritated crotch. Eliot sighed and said to himself that they were adults; they would know when to stop if things got steamed. The bottle was tilted and the clear gel dripped without noise.

“I’ll never understand why you have to wax it,” Eliot commented and rubbed a bit of gel over the rash. “A bit of fuzz never hurt anyone.”

“It makes me feel dirty,” Quinn rebuked and moved his leg to allow Eliot access.

“This might be a surprise for you, given that I had to teach you to wash your feet in the shower, but humanity had known of soap since Babylonian times.”

“Let me tell you something, partner,” Quinn sneered as he got up on his elbow. “When dirty times come, I’m pretty close to the action and you could use either less hair or more soap.”

“Few laws for the lions, many laws for the oxen…” Eliot scolded and leaned forward, barely noticing his fingers were playing with Quinn’s balls, the same balls that needed no soothing. “Leave my fur alone.”

“You are so lucky you have sexy fur,” Quinn praised and approached a bit more.

“So do you, when you let it grow,” Eliot volleyed the praise back and moved to soothe other irritated patches of skin.

“Careful,” Quinn hissed when Eliot’s fingers touched his most tender spot. “That last strip almost took a bit of my skin.”

Eliot nodded and made sure of not putting excessive pressure over that strip of red skin. After a couple of strokes, he noticed he was again in dangerous territory. His gentle touch was more a caress than a rub and Quinn was reacting to it: Quinn’s pupils were huge and his lips quivered.

“Quinn…” Eliot called and, to his absolute horror, his voice came out like a lustful gasp.

Quinn hooked his free arm around Eliot’s neck. Their lips touched, lightly. Eliot knew they were about to lose it, but he had missed that mouth and those fingers running through his hair. Temptation… Eliot’s fingers teased Quinn and Quinn squirmed closer, groaning his hunger. They were both so ready…

Quinn’s hand moved to his own chest, pressing down. Eliot recoiled, taking his hand out of the hot space between Quinn’s legs. A struggling breath escaped Quinn’s pale lips. That was the death knell of Eliot’s lust.

“That’s enough,” Eliot declared and pulled Quinn’s briefs up.

“I just felt my own heartbeat!” Quinn protested and sat on the bed to hinder Eliot’s plan to make him decent.

The sudden movement triggered a coughing spell. Eliot shook his head; another iteration of the same sketch. Quinn’s lungs were still filled with liquid and any vigorous activity stirred it. Eliot rubbed his boyfriend’s back until the spasm passed. Those two or three minutes crawled so slowly that it was difficult to bear.

“I’m fine,” Quinn insisted when Eliot held him in his arms. “We can go on. I’m fine!”

“You’re not,” Eliot whispered and pushed Quinn to lay down. “You will be fine, but not tonight.”

“Eliot…” Quinn protested against the nook of Eliot’s neck.

“Don’t argue: rest,” Eliot commanded as he finally got Quinn’s briefs over his backside. “Besides, I don’t think you would enjoy the deed too much when your crack is as red as a baboon’s butt.”

Quinn chuckled, hooked his leg over Eliot’s hip, and abandoned the battlefield. There would be time for another skirmish and maybe that time it would be successful. Tonight, Eliot thought as he held Quinn in his arms, they better skip the movie and have a peaceful sleep.

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

The flight went all right, and Quinn had to admit he liked Eliot focusing his whole attention on his person, both on the first leg to Phoenix and from there to Oklahoma City. They ate an early lunch at one of the post-security restaurants and Quinn enjoyed being in the open with Eliot fussing over him and his choices, moving the salt shaker away, asking him to drink more water. Quinn never had anyone to pamper him for such a long length of time and he felt a little dizzy even before they lifted off. The feeling was almost addictive.

That feeling was dangerous.

Fortunately, Eliot Spencer was good to provide him with reasons to survive that feeling. They split from the rest of the passengers and moved to the Premium Parking section. For someone who was constantly badgering Quinn for his expenses, Eliot had been sinking a lot of money into a long-term parking service for a vehicle that wasn’t worth it.

“Are you kidding?” Quinn exclaimed as soon as Eliot pulled the dust cover to reveal that old light gray pickup truck. “Does that rust bucket even _move_?”

“Hey!” Eliot exclaimed as he folded the cover. “Never disrespect a lady!”

“That thing must be as old as you are!”

“In fact, she’s five years younger.” Eliot refuted and placed the dusty fabric inside the diamond plated cross-bed toolbox. Quinn noticed Eliot hooked his luggage to the box with a bungee cord. “I saved every penny for three years to get my first truck and I rode her three years until I enlisted.” Eliot stopped to pass his hand over the bedside panel. “I hadn’t had the heart to sell her and I had kept her up and running all these years.” Eliot gave a couple of eager pats to the roof with a big smile. For a second, Eliot looked exactly like an eager teenager who just got his first set of wheels. “Get your ass inside!”

Sentimental reasons… Eliot Spencer had sentimental reasons to spend money. Five minutes ago Quinn would have slapped anyone who even hinted Eliot Spencer could do something for sentimental reasons.

With a deep sigh, Quinn took out his jacket because he was not sure AC was even invented when that old clunker left the assembly line. Eliot, from the driver seat, extended his hands to get the jacket and the carry-on. The feeling of being fussed over returned but tempered with a healthy dose of disapproval.

The first thing Quinn noticed was the interior was recently upholstered; the seats were comfortable and Quinn relaxed and luxuriated in the legroom while Eliot adjusted the mirrors to his satisfaction and told him that he had to get a truck because his father was the owner of a hardware store. Quinn’s ears pricked at that morsel of information, but Eliot turned the key and the maudlin sound of jangling guitars filled the cabin grating on Quinn’s nerves.

“A hardware store, you said?” Quinn almost screamed and extended his hand to find a better station.

“Don’t touch the dial!” Eliot slapped Quinn’s hand in his way to retrieve his parking card. “Yes, my father had a hardware store; I made deliveries and a bit of handiwork. A truck was better than a bicycle...”

“You gotta be kidding me, pal!” Quinn cried in disbelief.

“Have you ever tried to deliver plumbing supplies on a bike?”

Eliot turned around to confront Quinn, but there was no anger in his face, just a hint of adorable confusion. Quinn repressed the need to take that face in his hands and kiss it.

“I was talking about that awful country drone.”

Eliot stopped and his expression changed until it became unreadable before he turned the volume to a fraction of its original loudness.

“I need it to know I’m getting home,” Eliot said and Quinn noticed the hint of sadness in his voice. “If you change the station, I won’t be able to find it again.”

Eliot pointed at the dial and made Quinn notice it was blank. Probably, it was the original part. Quinn could sense that the station was important for sentimental reasons and he still cared for Eliot, so he dropped it. Eliot returned to the wheel, card between his legs, and drove out the parking lot. A couple of minutes after Eliot swiped his card, silence became unbearable.

“Did your parents named you after a country star?” Quinn asked with his usual dose of irony.

“No, my mom loved T.S. Eliot…” Eliot stole a quick glance at Quinn before merging into the highway. “ _Because these wings are no longer wings to fly, but merely vans to beat the air_ …?”

Quinn was not sure what to reply because he had never heard those words in that particular order. Eliot was patient, it took him almost three minutes, but he finally showed some emotion.

“Come on, Quinn!” Eliot exclaimed in disbelief and tapped the steering wheel. “You surely know the author of that musical you sing in the shower!”

“I know it!” Quinn protested and rested his elbow on the open window frame. It was good to have a thing other than the radio to fight over. “It’s Andrew Lloyd Webber!”

“For someone who mocks my culture so frequently, you have a lot to learn, Quinn.”

 _Good_ , Quinn thought to himself as Eliot kept ranting about how he was not sure European education lived up to the hip. _He’s getting fed up with me. I’m safe._

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

The ride was quick, mostly on highways, Quinn and Eliot argued the whole time until they arrived at one of those sleepy American towns Quinn was used to seeing in movies: quaint in the grid urban planning, but mostly lonely. Few cars roamed the streets, most of them drove in and out of the mall with the big Value More sign. They were both sharp men and they didn’t need to comment on the boarded shops to point out this was a town in trouble: their mutual silence was enough.

They were idling at a red light when the radio began to misbehave and Eliot smiled and turned up the volume. Quinn was about to protest, but country music was gone and a string of strange words followed the sharp notes of a lonely glockenspiel. Quinn might be a stranger to American culture, but a jingle is a jingle wherever you play it. The light changed and Quinn noticed Eliot was mouthing words to match the sound coming from the radio.

“Call me ignorant once again,” Quinn mumbled when they abandoned the main street and the radio began to play a strange sound with lots of percussions, “but I seriously doubt that was old fashioned American.”

“It’s Tsalagi and it’s more American than the English language,” Eliot replied and turned down the volume. “We are close to home, now.” Eliot minded the road, but his fingers were following the tune on the steering wheel. “Did I tell you we are going to stay with my uncle Randy?”

“Several times,” Quinn reassured and smiled wickedly, “but that information clarified nothing.”

“If you take something from this trip, Quinn, it’s that my family is a big mess.” Eliot took an intersection and advanced through a dirt patch. “Uncle Randy is a character. He was a cop, he owned a security firm, but he’s now retired. He has his quirks, so bear with him. Just show your charming side and you are going to be alright.”

“I assume he doesn’t know your legend.”

“Oh, he knows I was a soldier,” Eliot replied non-committal and avoided a pothole, “and that I did some security work…”

“Oh! _Security work_?”

“Yes, around the world. He knows about the pub, and about Parker and Hardison,” Eliot continued and disregarded the poisonous dart Quinn just tossed at him, “but I never got around to bringing them here. Don’t ask me why, because _I don’t even know_.”

Quinn was, in fact, about to ask just that. The fact the Eliot ‘got around’ to drag Quinn here was worrisome. That was too much depth for Quinn’s comfort, but there was no way to refuse now. Eliot turned a corner and found the driveway of a red-brick ranch house.

“Go with the flow; you are going to be alright,” Eliot repeated and turned off the engine. After a couple of seconds, he fixed his eyes on Quinn’s. “I promise you: you are going to be loved here.”

 _Thank you for that information: I hate it!_ Quinn thought because the possibility of being rejected hadn’t even passed by his head and now, it was the only thing in his mind. Quinn was uneasy, his belly hurt. _Go and fuck your mother, Eliot Spencer!_ Without noticing Quinn’s discomfort, Elliot climbed down and moved to the front door.

Through the windshield, he noticed Eliot picked up speed and Quinn turned his head to the right. An old man with long hair smiled and opened his arms as he was getting out of the house. Eliot stopped, stood still for a second, and then rushed to those arms. Quinn looked at how the man patted Eliot’s back with an even bigger smile before holding Eliot’s face in his hands to have a better look. Quinn noticed he had to climb down; it would look ridiculous if Eliot had to take the man to the truck to make the introductions.

Quinn followed Eliot’s steps quite reluctantly, wondering if he should start running in the opposite direction. No hitter worth his salt would run to the guns trained at him. That’s how Quinn felt and his discomfort increased when he noticed that man was not suntanned; the reddish hue of his skin was his natural tone. Quinn surveyed the man’s face from the sculptured cheekbones, the thin bridge of his nose and his wide nostrils and that smiling thin lips. _Subhuman_ , his mind suggested and Quinn stopped to make his brain shut the idea up.

He was still fighting his father’s voice when the man—Randy, _kurva!_ He has a name!—noticed him. Randy made a short, disapproving noise and Quinn felt the hair on his arms standing on end. He had heard that noise before, particularly when Eliot was in a ranting mood. Eliot turned around and smiled, Quinn’s eyes were still dancing between those two men who couldn’t be more different, but shared more than Quinn and his father ever will.

“He’s Jonah Quinn, uncle. He’s very special to me,” Eliot said and motioned Quinn to get closer. When Quinn refused to move, Eliot took two steps back. “He’s my choice.”

Strange words tumbled from Randy’s mouth and Quinn didn’t like the tone. His speech sounded questioning, almost aggressive. Quinn wanted to shout that he should speak something ( _human_ ) intelligible, but he caught a mischievous glint in Eliot’s eye. Maybe it was better to see how all of this would unfold.

“Yes, uncle,” Eliot replied and extended his hand to hold Quinn’s. “I am. He _is_.”

Randy repeated his unwelcoming sound and turned around to enter the house again. Eliot’s hand felt warm around Quinn’s and, at the moment, it was the only center of his world.

“Don’t worry. All’s right, in fact, better than I expected,” Eliot said and rested his hand on Quinn’s arm for a moment. “Just roll with it,” Eliot continued, probably to distract Quinn from the noise inside the house. “You’re already loved.”

Quinn closed his eyes, wanting to sock Eliot with all his might, but at the same time feeling so desponded that he barely found the will to breathe. He had never asked to be loved by anyone but Eliot and yet, Quinn’s hand was not warming inside Eliot’s.

“Now, this is one of uncle Randy’s quirks. He’s gonna smudge you. It’s like when they offer water to the travelers in the Bible…”

Eliot stopped his explanation, maybe Quinn’s face didn’t show the appropriate interest.

“He just wants to welcome you properly,” Eliot explained and let Quinn’s hand go. “You just mimic what I’ll do.”

Quinn took a deep breath and tried to relax, rolling with the punches was, in fact, the basic requirement of his job. Randy, singing something in his strange language, came outside holding a clay dish with dry, burning herbs and a colorful blanket over his shoulder. Quinn felt the cedar's fragrance like a punch to the gut and, if his hands were cold before, now he felt chunks of ice at the end of his arms.

Eliot was barely holding the smile as he extended his arm and rubbed both hands on it before pushing the smoke toward his mouth twice. He repeated the movement over his eyes, his ears, and his chest before he repeated the movement over his head. Quinn got the idea: it was like washing with smoke. Randy, singing all the time, kept pushing smoke toward him with a wide white feather.

“ _Osyio, Waya_ ,” Randy said, tapping Eliot’s head with the feather.

“ _Osyio, edu’sti_ ,” Eliot replied with the widest, warmest smile Quinn has ever witnessed in his life.

Randy turned around and offered Quinn the earthen pot ware with a brief moment. Eliot behind him rubbed his hands like he was playing a miser in a theatre play. Quinn extended his hands and touched the smoke, to his surprise, it was almost cold. To play the part was easy, he just had to follow the rhythm of the strange song. Then Randy, instead of touching him with the feather moved counterclockwise around Quinn three times, pushing more smoke in his direction. Quinn looked at Eliot in confusion but Eliot wound his index fingers over to signal him to roll with it. Then Randy took the blanket from his shoulders and wrapped Quinn with it.

“ _Gi na'tse'l_ ” Randy said after repeating his unfriendly sound. “ _Osyio, Yonva_!”

“Oh-see-yoh?” Quinn tried the word; it seemed important for the ritual.

That must’ve been the right thing to do because Eliot beamed him a smile so bright it could be seen in the Antarctic and Randy repeated the noise. For a second, Quinn felt very proud of himself, then Randy spoke again.

“Come inside, boys,” Randy said finally and moved to open the door. “You must be hot and tired. Do you want anything to drink?”

Eliot was always a smart observer and he put his arm across Quinn’s shoulders as soon as he noticed Quinn was about to lash out when he noticed Randy could speak a very good variety of English. Without losing his smile, he kissed Quinn’s cheek and pushed him inside the house.

Quinn definitively felt very out of his depth.

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

Quinn stood still in the doorway, two steps from the door. The interior was dark and cool, but the smell of cedar was even more pungent inside and Quinn remembered with disgust the seldom hugs his father ever gave him. That smell…

Eliot crossed the living room with a sure stride toward the kitchen. There was another aroma wafting and Eliot was not perfect: gluttony could be his damnation any day of the week. Randy let out a chuckle and motioned Quinn to get inside. Quinn hesitated still. That smell…

“Smoke gets in your eyes, _Yonva_?” Randy asked and his face didn’t change but his eyes became softer.

Quinn forced one of his hands to let go of the blanket. He had been clutching the fabric around his shoulders without noticing it. That hand hurt when he unclenched it and used it to rub his eyes, his fingertips got wet immediately.

“He prefers Quinn, uncle!” Eliot protested from the kitchen.

“Stop rummaging the pot and open the back door!” Randy replied and took a step toward Quinn. “Don’t worry, we will ventilate this old house. Smoke will go out soon.”

Randy patted Quinn’s arm and the affectionate gesture made Quinn shiver. The contact was brief, Randy moved to the door to pass the latch of the screen door. Eliot did the same at the other side of the room and a gentle breeze carried the smell away and a smell of dust and freshly cut grass replaced it. Quinn relaxed and his vision opened up. The living room was an open space, walls painted yellow and red with a black line around the middle. There was a set of couches with blankets and a sturdy coffee table, big enough to hold a roasted suckling pig. The pot with herbs was still smoldering in the middle of it.

“Are you feeling better, Quinn?”

“Yes, thank you,” Quinn replied, fighting against his training. “You can call me Tony if you want.”

Eliot, who had been stirring the pot and was about to taste the spoon, made a choking sound when Quinn uttered those words. Quinn, without minding him, took the blanket from his shoulders and moved to a wall that displayed something he had never experienced in his life.

“Is that costume real?” Quinn asked and pointed at the glass case in the corner.

Inside a tall glass case, a wooden mannequin stood dressed with the type of clothes moves always show, except for the headdress. This display didn’t show a glorious warbonnet full of feathers like the Indians in the movies, but there was a set of leg wraps and loincloth and the pectoral decoration.

“It’s called regalia, my boy,” Randy replied, taking the blanket from Quinn’s hand. “I can vouch it’s real since I made it myself.”

“Are these pork shavings?” Eliot hollered from the kitchen.

“It’s venison!” Randy replied before turning to Quinn who could see a smile reflected on the glass. “First time you see regalia displayed?”

Quinn’s face faltered. He had seen some pieces in museums, but there were of a different style, and admitting that could be impolite. He just made a vague signal that could mean anything.

“Where is the headdress?” Quinn asked when he finally feasted his eyes enough.

“My tribe doesn’t wear those.”

“Uncle here is Cherokee,” Eliot joined the conversation and added with a small nod: “ _Ani-yun-wiya_ ”. He didn’t stop stirring the contents of the dish. “Only Plains Indians wear warbonnets.”

“Don’t burn your tongue with that hominy,” Randy admonished and put the blanket on the back of the couch.

“I won’t!”

“He always does,” Randy said with a gruff chuckle. “Anything caught your eye, Tony?”

Quinn let out a small ironic sound. Anything, the man said… To the right of the glass case there was a wall full of Indian art; to the left, a whole lot of Police work mementos and family photos. If anything Quinn had too much to look at. Eliot squealed behind Quinn’s back and ran to the kitchen double-quick, but Quinn paid little attention: his gaze finally stopped on an item.

An odd one.

This one was not a photo, not like those one hangs to show a happy family. It was black and white, going on yellow. It was printed on cheap paper and showed its years. It depicted a manifestation of some sorts, there were signs and raised fist and, of course, police with batons and riot shields. Between two parted shields, Quinn noticed a familiar face. Randy, wearing a tan or maybe olive shirt, was driving a cuffed woman out of the crowd; blood was dripping from the side of his head when the journalist took the picture. Quinn was surprised by how short Randy wore his hair, but the most unsettling part of the picture was the woman’s eyes. There was a fire burning on that gaze and it didn’t match the restrained grimace of pain in her mouth. Her back was bent, but her will was not broken. Quinn almost could bet that feisty little thing was the one who cracked Randy’s pot.

Eliot came from the kitchen with three open bottles of beer, passed one to Quinn, and another to Randy before following Quinn’s eyes. He cracked a proud smile.

“She’s my aunt,” Eliot explained, taking a healthy swig of his bottle. “My mom’s little sister.”

“My Willa, my wild rose,” Randy confirmed with a sober nod. “We always had too much month at the end of our money, but we were very happy.”

“You heard her voice on the radio,” Eliot added with a nod.

Quinn was a bright boy, the past tense was a tell-tale sign that he must drop it, but the men behind his back were less ready to let it pass.

“That was the first time we met,” Randy said and the ghost of a smile caressed his lips. “I cuffed her a good baker’s dozen of times before she spat at me: ‘Either you get my phone from the case files or you ask me out right now’...”

“‘Because we can’t keep seeing each other like _this_!’” Eliot concluded with a laugh. By the sound of it, he had heard the story many times, Quinn could bet that was his favorite story.

“She had the spirit.”

“She was a little rabble-rouser and a crackpot,” Eliot rebutted with a sad smile, “but she was my favorite aunt…”

“And you were spoiled for choice.”

“Mom was the eldest child,” Eliot explained and pointed at Quinn with his bottle, “and she had six sisters and four brothers.”

“If there ever was one head with an original thought inside, that was Willa’s.” Randy nodded and sipped his beer. “We came to Oklahoma because ‘every man has a right to his roots’ and she never found a strike she didn’t like or a powwow she wanted to miss.” Randy stopped and looked at Quinn with a strange expression. “Maybe we should take Tony here to a powwow.”

“Uncle…” Eliot sounded hesitant. “Tony had an _accident_ a couple of months back. I don’t think a day under the sun would be good for his heart.”

“Well, he can’t dance, but he can watch: Everyone has a place in the circle of people.” Randy rebutted and passed Eliot his dish. “You pour it, you eat it.” He admonished with the gruff sound of a reproving father. “He likes regalia. Don’t you, Tony?”

“I wish to know what a powwow is first,” Quinn mumbled and tore himself away from the wall. He had finally recognized it by the minefield it was.

Randy pointed at the sofa and Quinn, getting his meaning, sat. Eliot jumped the back of the couch and sat by his side, already shoving spoonfuls of creamy white cereal into his mouth. Randy sat and explained what a powwow was between sips of his beer. Eliot finished his and then stole Quinn’s but that didn’t matter. Randy was an enthralling narrator and Quinn got lost in the slow cadence of his voice for half an hour before he noticed Eliot was snoring by his side.

“He always does that,” Randy smiled when he noticed Quinn’s outraged expression. “I take it as a compliment.” Randy nodded and raised. “I’ll bring you a sip of water and then you can tell me a bit about yourself.”

Quinn took a deep breath, his brain already meandering around what to tell and what to keep; he had been raised by the modern incarnation of Goebbels and knew how valuable misinformation was. He also was no stranger to _l’appel du vide_ —his line of work was proof enough—and he seldom felt it more strongly than now, in this domestic setting, sitting on this old couch with his lover sleeping soundly next to him.

He wanted to be honest with Randy, but that was more suicidal than running into oncoming traffic.

A slow breath left his chest, Tony Quinn was ready to lie.

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

Eliot was roused from his deep slumber by the sound of a pot being stirred and was completely awake to take his place on the round table of the breakfast nook. Randy tossed him a line about a cook who never cooks, but it was in good jest. Quinn tasted the soup he was served and, for the first time in months, he asked for a second helping; Eliot asked for a third. They chatted about things without consequence until the lightning bugs began to dance against the window.

“Well, boys,” Randy said, raising from the table. “I made dinner, you can do the dishes.”

“It was more than a fine dinner. Thank you.”

“I’ll take care,” Eliot replied with a nod. “Thank you for the meal. It was just like the old times.”

“I’m turning in early,” Randy said after a nod to acknowledge the gratitude. “Perks of old age. If you are going to be naughty, mind the racket!”

“Uncle!” Eliot protested and turned a lovely shade of red. Quinn had to suppress the urge to hold his ashamed face in his hands and kiss the shame away.

Randy chuckled and moved inside the house with a slow cadence that matched his voice. Quinn felt like smiling, and not even Eliot’s rambling complaints as he cleared the table could take the smile away. The table was cleared in seconds, the leftovers were poured into an empty butter tub, and Eliot scrubbed everything as if his life depended on it.

“Your uncle told me I’m the second man you brought to this home,” Quinn said after a while, to fill the silence.

“Shelley, my friend from the Army,” Eliot admitted and cast an annoyed look at the bottom of the pot. “We did BMT at Fort Sill and neither of us was keen on spending two weeks with our families.”

“Why is this the first time I heard of this Shelley?”

“Because you were knocking at Heaven’s door when I could have made introductions?”

“Ha!” The dry bark of laughter tasted like vinegar and kind of spoiled the nice dinner. “I doubt either of us would be allowed through Heaven’s doggy door, let alone the Pearly Gates.”

“Now you know your catechism?” Eliot protested and scrubbed the pot as if he meant to strip it from its enamel. “This weekend we are invited to Shelley’s home. You’ll see you have nothing to be afraid of.”

Quinn dropped it because arguing with Eliot was all the traces to make a racket. Eliot finished his chore, turned down the light, and guided Quinn to a room at the back of the house.

The old dim light bulb lit up a cluttered room.

Eliot’s house in Oregon was far more spartan than this. Quinn’s eyes got assaulted by the many details: an army woobie thrown askew over a rocking chair, several pieces of turquoise jewelry, a toolbox at the foot of the bed, more Indian art in the walls, the star quilt covering the double bed, the camouflage shirts poking out from the closet.

“Welcome to my teenage room,” Eliot mumbled and shrugged. “In case you are interested, you are the third man inside: Uncle Randy, Shelley, and you.” Eliot recited and counted with his fingers. “Don’t ask me about the women.”

“Ha-ha,” Quinn intoned with all the sarcasm he could muster and sat on the bed. “When were you going to tell me you were part-Cherokee?”

“I’m not part-Cherokee, Quinn,” Eliot grunted as he took his shirt from his back. “My aunt, who was the black sheep of the family, married uncle Randy, who was torn from his family at a young age and raised by whites...”

Eliot let the thought trailed and struggled to set his shirt right. Quinn didn’t think he did that to let the information sink, but sink it did, like a rock in a pond. Genocide… That kind, old man who made everything to make Quinn feel like family was a victim from the silent genocide of American original people. The term ‘final solution’ danced on the back of his mind and Quinn reinforced the rejection by taking off his shoes. Eliot finally began talking again, his accent—barely noticeable any other day—became thicker.

“My aunt hailed from a coal town in West Virginia, the same as my mum.” Eliot hung his shirt from the back of the rocking chair with care. “If anything I’m your boring mix of European ancestry, but aunt Willa never gave uncle Randy a kid, and things could be better at home.”

Another pause as Eliot unbuttoned his jeans. This time, the information was just a confirmation because Eliot had too much money and he didn’t have the foggiest idea of what to do with it. His love was raised poor, so poor that he held onto bad habits for fear of losing those vital survival skills. Quinn smiled a bitter smile as he took out his shirt.

“My mum sent me here every summer because the bus fare was far cheaper than to feed little ravenous me for a whole month…” Eliot took a moment to stretch his back before folding his jeans. “Aunt Willa worked with the tribe, and the first two years I was practically _sewn_ into her skirts. I learned a thing or two, just to fit in. ”

Eliot, off-handedly, tossed a cheap plastic hanger to the bed over his shoulders. Quinn knew he was still being spoiled, but that didn’t make him notice that this was the first Eliot stripped to his undies and Quinn didn’t jump to cling to that bare skin, maybe because Eliot was not looking at him.

“Then I became a teenager and my aunt’s work was not man’s work and I started to follow uncle Randy like a stray puppy and—you can see it—the man is eager to teach and I was just as eager to learn.”

Eliot sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. For a second, his face on the mirror told Quinn to expect more revelations, but the words out of Eliot’s mouth were more prosaic.

“I need to pee.”

With those words, Eliot took a short run to the bathroom at the other side of the corridor and Quinn shook his head. As Eliot freed space on his bladder, Quinn took off his khakis and hung them from the hanger, then wrapped the shirt with care. He found a spare nail on the wall and hung his clothes. Eliot returned just to notice Quinn was looking for a spot to put his dirty socks.

“Sweet…” Eliot grumbled and turned around. “I forgot to haul your bags in!”

“You also forgot to roll up the windows,” Quinn pointed and a surge of humor made him scoff, “and to close the doors.”

In his underwear, Eliot ran outside the house, but he was not fast enough. Quinn noticed his face didn’t register alarm; Eliot was avoiding Quinn. Maybe he noticed he volunteered more information than he wanted to share. Quinn waited on the aisle, in the dark, and, as soon as Eliot returned, he dragged his luggage to the bathroom and closed the door. He took his time to get ready for bed. By the time he brushed his teeth, Quinn was sure the whole trip was a bad idea.

The room was dark when Quinn walked inside, only the faint moonlight suggested Eliot’s form on the bed, he was holding open the star quilt. For a second, Quinn wanted to protest it was hot enough to sleep without a blanket but maybe Eliot was just being considerate to his uncle: old people wake up early and maybe he wouldn’t like to watch his nephew in a tangle of limbs with another man.

“Come, it’s late,” Eliot mumbled when Quinn finally shuffled back into the room

Quinn heeded the invitation and Eliot wrapped his arms around him. That made Quinn feel better; that was a place where he belonged, warm and safe. _I like it when you hold me to sleep_. His mind began to drift as soon as Eliot lent him his arm for a pillow.

Eliot shuffled and spooned Quinn closer. Quinn didn’t mind the added warmth of his body or the accidental caress. _If there were a cuddle championship they wouldn’t let you compete; letting professionals in is bad sportsmanship_. Eliot was quiet, far too quiet, but Quinn didn’t want to provoke him, no when he had finally found a place to settle.

“Sorry I spilled my family drama,” Eliot said a quarter of an hour later as he let his hand slide over Quinn’s side. “I know you have enough with yours.”

“What do you know of my family drama?” Quinn taunted and Eliot’s hand stopped on Quinn’s hip.

Quinn didn’t mean to sound belligerent, but his words carried an accusation, and Eliot reacted accordingly. Eliot froze in place; his breath didn’t even make a sound. After five minutes of feeling Eliot’s hand on the crest of his hip, Quinn knew he had to say something. Eliot’s stillness was almost as worrisome as his silence.

“What is it?” Quinn insisted, wrapping Eliot’s arm around his own waist. “Nothing you can tell me will surprise me.”

“When I was a kid,” Eliot mumbled and spooned closer. “I watched one of your mom’s videos.”

“Oh,” Quinn mumbled and snuggled closer. “Got me worried for a minute, pal. I thought it was something serious.”

“You don’t mind?”

Quinn chuckled… _Of course, I care, you moron! She's my mom and I’m not a monster!_ and caressed Eliot’s hand. _I would have been a lot happier not knowing._ His hand rested on Eliot’s as he fought with all his might against the need of clutching it. _This information can’t surprise me: you fuck women for sport and the world is a lot kinder for those who stuff pussy_. _Sooner or later, you won’t be willing to pay the price, and I_ … _I_...

“I have made my peace with being the only man on Earth who doesn’t know what my mother’s cunt looks like. How do you think I got my languages?” Quinn asked with acrid humor in his voice. Sarcasm was second nature; the shield he presented to those who could hurt him. “I needed to know who was telling me ‘your mum sucks black dicks’ to know whose head I had to knock.”

“I’m so, so sorry,” Eliot whispered in Quinn’s hair. The phantom of a kiss touched Quinn’s ear. “You deserved better.”

“Hey, all’s right,” Quinn said and pulled Eliot’s arm closer. “Just hold me.”

 _Just hold me, I need to feel safe._ His mind was wandering without any control. _I’m a stranger on a strange new land again and this time I couldn’t just return with my tail tucked between my legs and toss myself to my father’s hypothetical mercy; I burned that bridge behind my back. I’m scared, I’m lonely, and your arms are the only shelter I have_.

 _Please, even if it’s a lie, hold me_ …

 _Keep me safe_.

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

The rhythmic thud woke up Quinn with a start and he sat on that strange bed and surveyed the chaotic room with wild eyes.

Information seeped into Quinn’s brain drop by drop. Oklahoma; that little, dusty town; Eliot's uncle singing in the backyard as he drummed on something... So, it wasn’t a nightmare. Quinn sat on the bed, under the star quilt, sorting out his options for so long he lost track of time. In the end, Quinn’s bladder ached badly enough that he was confronted with the choice: he either got up from that bed and took a leak or he explained a wet spot on Eliot’s childhood bed. He picked up his clothes and dashed to the bathroom.

“Morning, Tony!” Randy hollered from the kitchen, but Quinn didn’t stop for the small talk.

Relief came quickly and after a splash of cold water, Quinn realized he hadn’t heard a sound from Eliot. That damned hitter had spoiled Quinn rotten, this was the first morning he was in the house and he didn’t wake Quinn with a glass of liquid for him to take his pills. Quinn took them because they made him good, but he missed the attention.

Randy was bending in front of the oven when Quinn, dressed in his chinos and polo shirt, felt ready to face him. Quinn never had the chance to return Randy’s greeting.

“Did you take your pills?” Randy asked without sparing him a glance. “Waya told me you need to take them as soon as you stirred from the bed.”

“I did. Thank…”

“Coffee or juice?”

“Cof-”

“With or without milk?” Randy asked, acknowledging the answer with a nod. “Sugar? I don’t have fake powder here, but I can offer you ho…”

“Randy, stop!” Quinn almost yelled, but, when he noticed the confusion on Randy’s eyes, he added. “Please, I’m still waking up.”

Randy laughed at the addition, took a deep breath, and looked at Quinn with paternal benevolence. That look almost made Quinn shiver.

“I assume you are not a morning person,” Randy said with a small smile.

“Security work does that to a man,” Quinn said, sticking to the lie he told Randy. He rested his weight against the breakfast bar. “May I have a glass of water, please?”

“Funny. I worked security for thirty years and I still can’t wait to start the day.” Randy filled a strange recipient with water. “Waya had been awake for three hours now. He raises even earlier than me.”

 _So, Waya’s Eliot._ Quinn thought as he sipped the water, noticing the strange rim against his lips, _got that_. Randy was a human whirlwind in that kitchen: pouring coffee, taking the milk out, and then returning it to bring out butter and a sort of preserves, looking for dishes, and peering into the oven in quick succession.

“Where is Eliot?” Quinn asked when Randy took a respite to look for a knife in a drawer.

“He went out to fix a pothole,” Randy answered and nodded at the butter knife he found. “That boy could never stand to know of a job and not do it,” Randy commented as he put a mug of black coffee in front of Quinn. “Maybe he knows far too well his dad wouldn’t be sober enough to avoid it.”

Quinn almost choked on the water when that information hit him.

“Does Eliot’s father live around the neighborhood?”

“Five houses down the road,” Randy said after he repeated his unwelcoming sound. “Had been for the last fourteen years or so. One night that boy came to me with a bunch of dollars clutched in his bloodied fist and told me: ‘Uncle, dad lost the shop. Friends back home told me he’s getting worse. Didn’t even have a dog to eat his carcass if he croaks all alone back there. Bring him here, keep an eye on him.’ So I did it for the boy.” Randy shrugged and put a sugar pot and a little spoon next to Quinn’s coffee mug. “It took me a while to win that mule over, but he had been there, five houses down the road, drinking every penny the boy sent him, for a bit while now. Only God knows how long he will last.”

Quinn disregarded the water, the coffee, and the delicious smell that came wafting from the oven. Bloodied fist… Either Eliot was sloppy or his fists weren’t properly healed after a scuffle. Either way, Quinn was sure Randy knew of Eliot’s bloody past. Randy finally stopped and fixed his eyes on Quinn to give him a thousand league stare that lasted far too much.

It was irrational, but Quinn was sure Randy was staring right into his soul, measuring every inch of his past against a rule that made no sense.

“I know that boy has been doing something he’s not proud of,” Randy said just when Quinn was about to avert his eyes. “If he were proud, he would tell me every detail, but if I judge him... where would he go when he needs help?” Randy uttered that unfriendly sound again. “He can’t go down the road in search of comfort.”

“Why…?”

The question abandoned Quinn’s lips before he could stop it. It was not his right to ask, Randy would have known it. Randy, still and aloof, cast another of his long stares on Quinn, repeated his strange grunt, and made a small movement of the head to invite Quinn to follow him. Quinn followed him, without knowing exactly why. They passed in front of Eliot’s room on their way to the master’s bedroom.

The room was dark and cool. A multicolor blanket covered the neatly-done double bed. Quinn noticed the crossed break-action shotguns on top of the headboard, pointing upwards and the half-empty closet next to the bookshelves. Randy moved to the bookshelves and took out an old photo album before drawing a curtain and invited Quinn to get closer with another grunt.

Quinn dithered as he was about to know an arcane secret so terrible for the human mind. Randy was looking at him with serene eyes and Quinn, heeding his plea, took the steps.

“Here,” Randy said when Quinn was within arms reach. “Waya. Eliot. The baby of the family…”

Quinn followed Randy’s finger. A blond boy, probably four or five, wearing denim overalls too big for him with the legs rolled around his legs, sat on the skirt of a woman with a severe expression. The boy was smiling at a girl, probably ten, who was smiling at him, sitting one rung up to leave space for an older boy who held a baseball cap on his hands, between the knees as if he were not sure of what to do with it. Next to the girl, a man with a dirty t-shirt and jeans rested his hand on the older boy’s shoulder; his beard wasn’t kept properly and his eyes were looking at the camera with the hardness of flint. A family portrait, for those who couldn’t pay to have it professionally taken.

“This is the last picture with all the Spencers,” Randy said with a solemnity of a man giving testimony. “Only the baby and the man are alive today, and I’m not so sure about the man.”

 _I get it_ , Quinn thought looking into Randy’s eyes, holding that long stare with ease for the first time. _I get it. Your boy had suffered a loss I can’t comprehend. I get it; you don’t want me to hurt your boy anymore_. Quinn took a deep breath. _I don’t want to hurt your boy, please, believe me_. Randy repeated that sound and put the album on Quinn’s hands before rushing out the room. The smell of the bread in the oven was filling the house.

Quinn stared at the picture for a long time, recording every detail in his memory. The brilliant smile of the girl, the predatory look on the father’s eyes, the deep lines on the mother’s face… Hard life, bad end. Eliot would never tell him, he would never explain why the girl’s arm was so thin, why there was a bruise in the boy’s arm, why he was barefooted in the picture. _Pride_ , his father had told Quinn many times, _it’s the last resource of those whose life is not worth living_. A caution against allowing his head to be filled with thoughts for the unwashed masses of degenerate human beings.

Eliot’s truck came rolling. That old rust bucket was loud and tore a smile from Quinn. The album was returned to its place, the curtain was drawn and Quinn walked to the living room just in time to see Eliot cross the door with a huge tote bag in his hand.

“I told you Quinn can’t eat cornbread!” Eliot protested as he took long strides to the breakfast bar.

“Can’t I?” Quinn complained and met him at the bar.

“Well, he won’t eat it,” Randy rebuffed and took the bag from Eliot’s hand. “I will, my boy. Every last bit of it if I fucking please!”

“No, you can’t: too much salt!” Eliot almost spat, but he cupped Quinn’s head and planted a quick peck on his cheek. “Perfect! Choke on it, if you please too!”

Randy looked at Eliot and Eliot looked the other way with a stubborn pout. Randy rolled his eyes and cut a big chunk of the cornbread and put it in a dish, then he slid the dish in front of Eliot. Eliot resisted the temptation to look at it, but when Randy put a preserve-jar filled to the brim with a thick, purple sauce Quinn noticed his will faltered.

“There you are,” Randy encouraged as he cut another piece for himself. “That’s a good boy. You were just hungry…”

Eliot grumbled something and spooned sauce on the bread with Quinn’s coffee spoon. It was a good thing Quinn also liked black coffee. To avoid having his coffee stolen too, Quinn picked up the mug.

“Don’t skimp on the wojapi, my boy,” Randy said, picking up the warm bread with his bare hands. “Tonight we’ll have guests and I’ll need your help with the firepit.”

“I told you: Quinn needs rest, he had an accident,” Eliot stopped messing with the sauce long enough for Randy to snatch it from him. “We shouldn’t have a party.”

“It’s not a party; a dinner maybe,” Randy insisted with his eyes glued to the thick dollop of sauce falling on his bread. “Just some old farts telling stories. You want to learn about Coyote, don’t you, Tony?”

“Call it off!” Eliot demanded before Quinn had time to get a word edgewise.

“Ha. As if...” Randy replied with a wide smile while he spread berry sauce on his piece of cornbread. “My boy brings someone special for the first time since forever,” Randy picked up his plate and slapped Quinn in the arm as if they were sharing a wonderful joke, “and he pretends I react as if this was just one of his weekend drop-bys!”

With those words, Randy turned to the back door and left them both in the kitchen. Despite the emotions of the morning, Quinn felt the smile raising to his lips. He lifted the mug to cover it.

“Told you,” Eliot said with a big, theatrical sigh before sinking his teeth on the cornbread.“Loved.”

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

Quinn woke up when the sun was way high. Despite Randy’s reassuring words, last night was a party. Quinn felt hungover and he hadn’t even tasted a beer. After a while, Quinn began to wonder where Eliot and his uncle were hiding. Twenty four hours were enough to teach him those two were loud together. He took a long shower in the silent house and began to feel human again. Quinn dressed comfortably and wore the moccasins one of Randy’s friends gave him as a welcoming gift; the suede was comfortable and the embroidery showed the small irregularities of things made the artisanal way.

 _Told you_ , Eliot’s voice rattled inside Quinn’s head as he admired how well the shoes fit his feet. _Loved_.

Quinn’s face soured immediately. He liked gifts, he positively loved all the attention and Eliot’s careful watch over him, but Quinn didn’t want to be loved by a bunch of elder men in the middle of nowhere. Quinn was tired of waiting to hear those words from Eliot, not that he was a choice, not that he’s special. That Eliot loved him, the language didn’t matter.

The idea brought a memory from last night and Quinn cringed. Two of Randy’s friends were a couple and they taunted Eliot. They said Eliot had a boyfriend now and he must come to the next pride parade with them. Quinn let the flight of fancy size his head just enough for it to hurt when Eliot shut the idea down with a peal of dry laughter. While he was willing to honor his friends in any other way they ask, he would never do pride, and those words hurt Quinn, who didn’t even want to do pride, to begin with, he just wanted something tangible from Eliot.

A loud creaking sound tore Quinn from his deep introspection. It sounded like the strain of a rope against dry wood, Quinn had been in enough dire situations to know that sound. With a deep sigh, Quinn peered through the window and noticed Eliot was sitting in the hammock at the end of the property with a soot-smeared bucket next to his legs and a dirty shirt glued to his chest with sweat. Quinn was wide awake, a bit of chit-chat between them couldn’t hurt.

In his new shoes, Quinn walked through the house that smells of cedar. The kitchen was clean from the mess they made last night. Quinn unlatched the screen door in the back and noticed the smell of cleaning supplies. The firepit and the semicircular rock bench were scrubbed clean; Eliot ended up cleaning the party he never wanted in the first place. Quinn passed by and caressed the cold stones. Randy had told him Eliot built the place one summer when he was fourteen because he loved the firepit at the powwow the year before.

“Eh!” Eliot exclaimed and, for a second, he sounded just like Randy.

Quinn looked at Eliot, holding back the smile. Ah, the manly men always brought a smile to his lips and he was head over heels for this particular work-tousled man. Eliot was making him a sign to come closer and Quinn obliged with a slow step.

“You look like you need a nap,” Quinn said when he sat on the hammock extracting another groan from the old rope. “One that lasts at least a week and a half.”

“I haven’t been able to sleep well,” Eliot mumbled and rubbed his eyes. “Not since you were in the hospital.”

“I scared you!” Quinn exclaimed with a smile and rested his weight against Eliot’s arm. This was the closest Eliot had gotten to admit he loved Quinn.

“No!” Eliot grumbled and he noticed Quinn flinching at the sound. “Well, yes, that too… I haven’t been that worried for a while, but…”

“What is it?” Quinn insisted, noticing those words were in danger of becoming a catchphrase in his lips. “You can tell me.”

“If I tell you, I’ll give you a ton of power over me, Quinn.”

“I already have a ton of power over you,” Quinn replied and looked at the firepit. “I know your uncle’s address, I know your address, I know the code to disable your security system, I’m _gay_ with you…”

“You don’t know my nightmares,” Eliot mumbled and laid back into the hammock. “You don’t know what I’m afraid of…”

Quinn didn’t insist this time, he just let his weight rest on the hammock and stared at the branches over his head. Wasn’t that what that Russian therapist always did when Quinn was a teenager? Just sit and stare ahead? He was by far the one who got Quinn to speak. Eliot just needed Quinn to be there, in silence, so Quinn did just that.

“Maybe you do…” Eliot said after a long while crossing his arms behind his head. “Did the doctors explain your wounds in the hospital? With details? And probable causes?”

“They told me some of it was identified as ‘war wounds’.” Quinn smiled because a bird was perching over a branch. He always liked how birds tuck their wings in.

“They didn’t want to tell you they were ‘torture wounds’,” Eliot grumbled and tried to scoot over against all the laws of physics. “The drugs they gave you, I know them.” Eliot stopped fighting gravity and slid closer to Quinn. “I had used them.”

Quinn looked at the branch and the bird and tried with all his heart to match the thoughtful man by his side with the image of a cold-blooded torturer he was kind of trained to venerate. It was impossible. _I wish I could take flight, Father_ , Quinn thought, feeling Eliot’s stillness by his side. _Maybe that way I could break free from you_. He refused to think about the kind of hell war had put Eliot through to make him reach that level of dehumanization.

“I had done pretty terrible things in my past,” Quinn mumbled, wishing to find any excuse to stop his brain from returning to the issue. “It can’t harm you if it’s in the past.”

“It hurt you,” Eliot whispered with a trembling voice.

“Look, pal, I know you are a pretty big thing, but there is no way you were the only one who knew that recipe.”

Eliot was silent, but shivering by his side. Quinn reclined on the hammock and lied parallel to Eliot. By the way Eliot’s body fit against his, Quinn knew Eliot was fighting the need to turn into a ball like he was being hit.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Quinn whispered and pulled Eliot closer. “We all did horrible things, some of us still do. You are not that man anymore.”

“I’m still that man,” Eliot replied, fighting the hug. “Besides, I should be the one comforting you!”

“I have been spoiled rotten the last two days,” Quinn said and held his hug. “That’s too much for a man like me.” Quinn toyed with Eliot’s hair. “What is it? You are guilt-ridden, and you are sensible enough to know you didn’t do this to me.”

Eliot was still, he was silent. Quinn knew that was a dangerous Eliot, but he didn’t let go. Something inside him told him that if he slacked his arms, he could kiss this affair with Eliot goodbye. After a long while, Eliot accepted the shelter he was offered and buried his face on the crook of Quinn’s neck.

“I need to tell you about Kahmard.”

By the time Eliot finished his tale about a young man, only survivor when their Humvee step into an IED, stupid enough to not lie under duress and stubborn enough to endure all the punishment a bunch of angry men can pile on an invader in a lonely goat shed lost in Afghan mountains, Quinn was seething with rage, but he was the son of his father and none of it show on his face. He held his boyfriend between his arms and mumbled all the reassuring nonsense he could think of while, at the same time, was vowing to kill his father. The pain of his flesh, the humiliation of his pride, meant nothing next to the torment of this man by his side.

Quinn understood perfectly why Eliot was in such distress. Quinn’s wounds matched the same wounds Eliot got more than three lustra ago; the similarity was deliberate. They weren’t expecting Quinn to live, this was his father’s way to tell Eliot he had caused Quinn’s death; this was the price he expected Eliot to pay for touching his property without his consent. Eliot needed to be punished for taking better care of Quinn than his own father ever did… The English language had not enough words to curse his name.

Randy came out of the house an hour later, Quinn heard how he opened the screen door and mumbled his grunt before closing the door. Eliot was soundly asleep between Quinn’s arms and Quinn was daydreaming about murder, so he was mighty glad Randy decided to be discrete.

It was a lovely evening to dream of patricide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I was playing with fire when I chose to make Randy one of those Native American kids that were given to adoption before ICWA became law. As an author, it was challenging to make all research I could before writing a character as complex as Eliot's uncle. Sonder hit me hard, and I said that without shame, but someone around Eliot, who could help him being the man he is, couldn't be an ordinary man. If Randy's off, please tell me and I'll make the proper adjustments.
> 
> I know this choice is a sensitive topic, but it fits thematically. Quinn's not at fault—his father's sins are not his—but he has little experience outside of his little bubble. He went from a fascist to a hitter and had been factually deprogramming himself while living alone. I wanted to explore the clash this encounter could provoke.
> 
> Ah, and in case you were wondering... Eliot quoted Eliot's Ash-Wednesday.


	2. The house that welcomes you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A weekend with his Battle Buddy was not something Eliot had each month. Eliot welcomed the chance to introduce Quinn to the Army family who adopted him.

“We have been rolling through town for the last fifteen minutes,” Eliot said and slapped Quinn’s shoulder to call his attention, “and I would really appreciate it if you could stop howling to ‘bring on the men’ at the top of your lungs.”

Quinn, who had been singing a musical show tune with his feet out of the window, snapped immediately at the touch. Eliot was looking at with a gentle smile that made Quinn’s hair rise on end because that smile proclaimed to the world his choice was far from adequate for his surroundings. Quinn had stopped paying attention to the road after the sixth time they stopped for Quinn to take a leak on the shoulder of the highway, more or less around the same time Randy’s snacks met their end. The never-ending list of show tunes in his personal sound system had kept him from stepping on Eliot’s nerves. 

With a sigh, Quinn put his feet inside the cabin and paid a bit of attention to the place they were driving by. It was a small residential lot, not too different from the one where Eliot’s house was. The uniformity crept Quinn a bit and brought a wave of nostalgia for Prague. The cars were different, some houses had a basketball hoop, some showed silly garden decorations. It took Quinn a couple of blocks to notice all the small religious messages and the horde of crosses and he was about to comment when they passed over a six feet tall cross poking over a roof from a backyard.

“Where did you bring me!” Quinn couldn’t help but exclaim his shock.

“Ralston, Nebraska,” Eliot replied completely deadpan. “Here’s where my battle buddy’s mom lives.”

“Any warnings this time?” Quinn asked because the neighborhood looked kind of rough for people of their ilk. “Like tone down the gay?”

“Shelley’s family is quite conservative,” Eliot commented a bit more off-hand than Quinn would have liked, “but they are good Christians.”

“Is such a thing possible?”

“They won’t ask us not to kiss or hold hands,” Eliot replied and made a full stop at the corner. “They would, of course, expect us to keep our unmentionables on when we are in the same room.”

“So no pissing together?”

“When have we done that?!”

Quinn laughed and put his earphones in that fancy case. Eliot never showed any interest in Quinn’s gadgets or his music, but Quinn had caught a glimpse of his smile when he thinks Quinn is not watching him. It was not a bad thing to experience.

“We can try on our way back,” Quinn ventured, already dreading the eight-hour ride.

“Just show your charming side,” Eliot mumbled and restarted his way through this quiet neighborhood.

“Am I gonna be loved here too?” Quinn couldn’t resist the temptation to toss Eliot’s words back.

“We'll see…”

Eliot turned the truck into a driveway in the middle of the block. A very American house, painted the same shade of the robin eggs, two floors tall, with a garage instead of a basement and a raised entrance with manicured lawn divided by a ten-step stair. There was a small gate that leads to the backyard by Quinn’s side and from his raised position Quinn could spot a pool and some garden furniture. This family had better means than Eliot’s uncle.

Eliot turned off the engine and honked three times in rapid succession before climbing down without checking with Quinn. This time, Quinn was ready and refused to drag the very indispensable ritual. He had barely time to put his feet on the asphalt when a sharp cry startled him. Quinn’s hand reached to the side of his shirt without thinking.

“Prom King!” A tall man cried as he went through the door.

Eliot closed the door, beat his chest, and opened his arms as if he was saying ‘The same!’. If Quinn wasn’t still trying to process the strange scene he would have missed the next bizarre happening: The man did a flawless backflip and then a very high back spring before landing in front of Eliot, turning around and lifting him from the ground with a massive bear hug. Eliot Spencer was laughing at being manhandled that way all the time it took Quinn to cross in front of that old truck.

“Welcome home, Prom King!” 

“Thank you for the invitation,” Eliot replied and went limp in the hug. “Now put me down!”

“Come on!” The man said and shook Eliot who presented no resistance and swung like a ragdoll on a dog mouth. “You have to say it.”

“Put me down,” Eliot repeated with an incensed tone before adding begrudgingly: “Prom Queen!”

“That’s more like it!” The man said, letting Eliot put his feet on the ground.

“Now that you finished with the silly bits,” Eliot said and extended his hand toward Quinn, “here’s Tony Quinn.”

“Oh, gosh!” the man turned his eyes toward Quinn and his face showed a candid expression of surprise. “I almost didn’t recognize you without the tubes and the bruises!”

“I’m surely mighty curious about how you think you should recognize me,” Quinn replied and stood his place next to Eliot.

“Shelley brought you from Russia,” Eliot explained with a little nod before crossing his arms. “He’s the Shelley you had been hearing of.”

“All good things, I hope?”

Shelley extended his hand with a bright smile and Quinn looked at him from head to toe. Tall, blonde, fit… his father’s dream son made flesh. Two conflicting waves of bad feeling hit Quinn at the same time: jealousy and envy. Jealousy because Eliot was even more touchy-feely with him than he ever was with Quinn; Envy because he would never be that man. The feeling was awful on so many levels. Still, because he was a guest, he extended his hand and shook it. _Panebože_ , even his handshake was perfect!

“Thank you for the ride.”

“Thank you for the intel,” Shelly was quick to reply, before pulling Quinn closer. “It’s good to see you a lot better. Welcome to my home.”

As Shelley was talking, he was guiding Quinn toward the stairs. Quinn tried to turn his head to ask Eliot for advice, but Shelley held him with a playful headlock. Eliot shrugged and followed them a couple of steps behind dragging Quinn's carry-on.

“Mom!” Shelley bellowed as they were climbing up. “Come and meet Eliot’s boyfriend!”

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

Shelley’s mom, Sandra, was a short, round woman in her fifties, with tinted hair and soft curves, and Quinn smiled at her without any effort and she welcomed a strange man into her house with only her son’s friend's recommendation to Quinn’s surprise. These Americans were a strange lot in Quinn’s book.

The living room of the house was painted in eggshell color, with a huge sectional sofa where all the seats pointed to the even huger screen. The decor had enough crosses for a dozen Calvaries and shelves with framed pictures put in eclectic places. Those shelves were laden with bells—handbells to be more precise—from all the sizes and materials, there was even one brass bell hanging from the keystone of the arch that led to the dining room. Shelley and his mom moved to greet Eliot by the door and Quinn’s eyes fell on a brass bell with a wooden handle, and he couldn’t help but grasp it to look at it closely. 

“No!” Eliot’s cry drowned the faint ring the clapper made against the body.

“For Pete’s sake!” Shelley exclaimed with a dismayed expression.

Quinn began to believe he had committed a _faux pass_ when Sandra laughed heartily. She came to Quinn and put her hand on the hand that held the bell.

“Oh, my boy!” She exclaimed sweetly, “Shelley’s dad became my sweetheart and he gave me my first bell.” She looked at the bell hanging from the arch. “Our life together was meant to be music. He traveled the world, and brought me more bells, The kids come, and with them more bells. And then, he took that trip with no return.” Her smile wavered. “In his memory, in this house, once you make a bell chime, you should make all the bells chime and pray for his brave soldier soul.”

“Is that so?”

Sandra looked at Quinn with hopeful expectation, as if there had been a long time since anyone had performed the ritual. Quinn looked at Eliot and Eliot shot daggers back. Shelley’s face proclaimed that the lady was not joking as Quinn suspected and that he better began ringing and brushing up his prayer book. Quinn, with a resignation he had never felt for his criminal past, began to pay for his transgression.

“Shelley, please come and help me set the table,” said Sandra as soon as Quinn rang the third bell.

“You better keep ringing,” Shelley whispered in Quinn's ear as he passed behind his back. “Mom knows all the tones and might know if you had skipped one.”

Quinn scoffed thinking Shelley’s mother knew the number and was counting the pauses. Eliot, still standing next to the door, looked at Quinn with a stern expression and that was all the incentive Quinn needed to get all the fun he could get from the task.

“You had to touch what’s not yours…” Eliot finally said between the sixteenth and seventeenth bell as he walked to a section on the sofa and plop down. “What are you? Five?”

“I’m a thief,” Quinn replied with a small smile. “Besides, that’s rich from a man who touches the things in my bookcases when he thinks I’m not watching him.” Quinn stood on his tiptoes to reach a small silver bell pushed against the wall. “How many times did you ring the bells?”

“Who told you I was childish enough…!” Eliot began with a rambling tone but a quick look at Quinn’s face as he rang another bell stopped him. “Just once.”

“Same as me,” Quinn replied, shaking a small bell with Switzerland’s flag on it with only two fingers. There was no need to be cheeky, but if he had to do it, Quinn was determined to enjoy it. “So, your friend is an orphan.”

“He has a mom, hasn’t he?” Eliot replied from the sofa.

“She is a widow.” Quinn fetched another bell from another shelf. He hadn’t missed the many pictures of young women around on the shelves. “There is a lot of lace and ribbons and _pom-poms_ around him. How come he’s the epitome of masculine allure?”

Eliot scoffed, got up, and moved to another shelf to fetch a picture. Quinn had time to ring a couple of bells before Eliot presented him the frame. It was a picture of six men dressed in fatigues, arranged closely around a baby. Quinn peered into the picture long enough to notice the ten-step stair ending at the feet of the man carrying the baby. That picture was taken outside the house.

“Keep ringing,” Eliot grumbled but kept the picture up for Quinn to see. “These are Shelley’s Daddies.”

Quinn was sure the weight in his hand was due to the information and not to the ceramic bell he just had rung. Eliot turned the photo around and looked at them with the same veneration he had spared to his aunt’s picture. Quinn pulled another bell and rang as loudly as he could to drown Eliot’s words without success.

“His real dad was their squad leader. He jumped on a grenade to save his men before Shelley was born.”

Quinn rang the bell more solemnly now. This was not an empty ritual anymore.

“They took turns to spend some time with their leader’s boy every summer,” Eliot kept explaining as he looked at the picture. “They took Shelley camping and fishing and they taught him how to be a man. Most of them are still alive. So don’t feel pity for my friend...”

“I don’t,” Quinn said and moved to another shelf. “I’m jealous.”

“You are always jealous,” Eliot rebuked and moved to put the picture in his place.

“And you like me like this,” Quinn declared, ringing another bell.

“Depends on the moment,” Eliot mumbled and shrugged, “depends on the person.”

Quinn rang another bell and took notice that Eliot wouldn’t take kindly of Quinn developing a jealous behavior toward his friend. Quinn wished he could be more certain that he could keep his insecurities under a tight lid, but Eliot’s support had opened a breach and so far Eliot had accepted his hungry, needy side…

“You missed one,” Eliot said when Quinn was getting ready to perform the last part of the ritual.

“Which one?”

Eliot pointed silently at the brass bell hanging from the arch. Quinn wondered how he was supposed to reach it when Eliot offered his knee for a step. Taking a step and raising his hand was the same movement. Eliot unbent his knee giving Quinn the much-needed reach before closing his arms around Quinn’s legs. The bell chimed with clear sound and that brought Shelley and his mother from the kitchen just as Eliot was letting Quinn step on solid ground.

Quinn looked into Eliot’s eyes and, with a small smile, he put his hands together to pray, as it was expected. Quinn closed his eyes and took a deep breath, Eliot’s aroma filled his nose with all the comforting associations. Quinn opened his mouth to repeat the only prayer his old Czech nana had instilled into his wicked soul, but he closed it immediately when Eliot’s—big, warm, gentle—hands covered his.

“ _Otče náš, jenž jsi na_ …” Quinn mumbled, completely unsure of the words but feeling very confident of Eliot’s support, and bent his head only to meet with Eliot’s head.

“He’s a good one!” Sandra’s voice reached Quinn’s ears. “He can pray! God knows what language he is spewing, but that’s a prayer if I ever heard one!”

Quinn would have smiled, noticing he could have as mumbled a string of curses and the good woman would be as pleased as she was, but Eliot’s hands over his hands and Eliot’s forehead touching his in reverent retreat was the closest he had ever had to mystical experience and he didn’t want it to end.

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

Dinner—meat and potatoes—was fine and didn’t make Eliot grumble about the salt content. Quinn even reached for the salt shaker and added a bit more, but Eliot kept talking about home chores with his friend. Quinn stopped paying attention after they got into a friendly argument about cleaning though spots. Sandra smiled at them until it was obvious they were not going to eat anymore and she gathered the dishes and moved to the kitchen.

“Don’t worry, dear,” Sandra said, maybe noticing Quinn’s confusion. “Stay with the boys, I’m going to bring some coffee…”

“Mom likes to make home,” Shelley explained briefly before intercutting Eliot’s ranting.

It was like watching a miracle. In Quinn’s experience, not even Hardison—a man who didn’t know when to shut his mouth—could wedge a quip into Eliot’s ranting, but Shelley not only managed to get a word in: he overrode Eliot’s rant with the same speed. Eliot was forced to hear his host’s points with pursed lips while Shelley gesticulated madly. Quinn, who had never heard someone too bothered by house chores, rested his chin on his hand because he knew Eliot well: Eliot was waiting for Shelley to draw a breath to counterattack, but Sandra must have been witness to the spars far too many times.

“Can we have a nice end for the dinner, please?” She asked, putting dainty coffee cups in their little saucers in front of him.

“We are not done,” Eliot mumbled, conceding they had to make allowances for civility.

“Oh, be sure of _that_!” Shelley replied and elbowed Eliot in a friendly way. “Mom got your cookies when she knew you were dropping by.”

“It’s the least I can do for the man who kept my baby alive,” Sandra replied with a modest smile, putting a plate with three chocolate-covered biscuits. “Thank you, Eliot,” Sandra said and pinched Eliot’s cheek.

Quinn, who was still not fresh out of surprise, had a hard time not bursting into a peal of laughter at Eliot’s face. Shelley got two chocolate chip cookies and then Sandra looked at Quinn while Eliot rubbed his face.

“Oh, my!” She exclaimed with despair in her voice. “I usually could guess what kind of cookie to offer my guest, but I don’t have the faintest idea of what to do with you.”

Quinn looked at Eliot and then at Shelley, his mind reeling with confusion because he had never thought of it: a biscuit was a biscuit and nothing else.

“Just ask for something!” Eliot almost spat when the silence got too long.

“ _Máslové sušenky!_ ” Quinn replied in a hurry because he loved the attention but hated to be put on the spot. 

“English, Quinn,” Eliot grumbled, and, to his credit, he tried not to roll his eyes.

“Butter cookies?”

At his hesitant reply, Sandra’s face lighted up like a Christmas tree and gave him a big American smile before moving to the kitchen with cheerful steps. Quinn could draw breath again. 

“It was a good choice,” Shelley said while his mother rummaged on her pantry. “Mom has this idea that she could judge the people by their cookie choice.”

“And what does it say about me?” Quinn asked while Eliot, the everliving avatar of finishing things, poured coffee on Shelley’s cup.

“At least it said you are not a monster,” Shelley said with a shrug. “She looked at Eliot with suspicion when I told her he liked nutty bars.”

“For starters…” Eliot began with a deep breath.

“No, I’m not arguing _this_ again with you!” Shelley interrupted and raised his cookie. “Mind your manners!”

“Arguing again?” Sandra complained as she put three butter cookies in front of Quinn. “Can you save your row for your smoking time?”

“I’m going to try, mom,” Shelley promised and bit his cookie. “I can’t vouch for Eliot.”

“You are a bad influence…”

“And the criminal says it…” Quinn retorted and put a whole cookie inside his mouth.

The cookie melted inside his mouth and, for a moment, Quinn pondered if Proust was onto something when he noticed how quiet the room was. Eliot was staring daggers at him with Shelley’s hand over his shoulder, Quinn noticed the thumb standing out. Sandra was looking at them with a hurt expression.

“Eliot ran a red light in his way here, mom,” Shelley lied seamlessly. 

“Don’t forget to pay your ticket,” Sandra said and cast Eliot a disapproving look. “You can do it on the computer these days.”

“I won’t, ma’am,” Eliot grumbled but he was still looking at Quinn like he wanted to kick him under the table.

“I say many pictures of young ladies in your living room, Sandra,” Quinn volunteered because he had a ton of practice to divert the topic around dinner tables. That was the biggest reason his mother brought him to every state dinner their parents had to attend. “Were they cheerleaders?”

“Every one of my kids was a cheerleader!” Sandra proclaimed proudly, twirling a vanilla wafer like a marching baton. “Even this one here!”

Quinn fixed a fake smile on his face and picked up his cup. Something told him Eliot wouldn’t let his slip rest. 

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

“We are going out for a smoke, mom!”

Sandra had retired after she took away the last dishes. Shelley got up with a deep sight, loaded the dishwasher, and took care of the waste before letting out that holler. Quinn thought he could hear a reply but Eliot was too busy opening the back door and leading his boyfriend to the pool deck with its patio furniture and long chairs. The air smelled faintly of chlorine, but it was better than smelling the filter of the old AC inside the home. Shelley turned off the lights, came right behind them, and found a spot even before Eliot had found a chair for Quinn.

“I used to be a heavy smoker ten years ago or so,” Eliot explained as he moved one chair behind Quinn’s. “Sandra can’t stand tobacco smoke so, after dinner, this goofball and I used to come out to have a good old chinwag and a few coffin nails.”

“Not that we need either,” Shelley rebutted, lying languidly on one of the long chairs and smiled when Eliot wrapped his arms around Quinn’s shoulders. “We spent all our time in the Army together.”

“Joined by the hip,” Eliot added as he rested his chin on Quinn’s shoulder.

Shelley laughed like that was the most hilarious joke he had ever heard, but Quinn didn’t mind him. Eliot was cuddling in public and the new sensation was very pleasing. Shelley and Eliot picked up their argument and Quinn only paid them half of the attention. In the darkness, with Eliot’s hand on his shoulders, Quinn let his imagination wander to less wholesome activities.

“Ugh! I should have let Ahmed send you to hell when I had the chance!” Shelley exclaimed after a while. Quinn was sure that was a declaration of defeat. “You are a bad influence…”

“I thought you were the bad influence,” Quinn mumbled, half-asleep in Eliot’s embrace.

“We have been friends for so long we already forgot who’s the bad influence.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Shelley protested. “You are definitely a bad influence! Do you know what this man had done!”

Quinn wised up but kept still. He had many, many things he knew Eliot Spencer had done and he had already made evident that _faux passes_ were his specialty.

“I made you get an Engineering degree, that’s what I did!” Eliot cried out before Quinn could have a chance to misspeak again. “No need to thank me for your butter bar!”

“Nerd!”

“You are still better for it!”

“I really didn’t enjoy reading in a shallow grave with you shooting into the darkness and crying out in Arabic that you had an exam tomorrow and may Allah help them if you flunk!” 

“You have a degree too?” Quinn asked with a smile.

“In Political Science, the weirdo!”

“ABD,” Eliot replied in Quinn’s ear. “I left the Army before I could get enough data for my research.”

“You are such a nerd!”

“What if I am? Huh?” Eliot retorted and used Quinn’s shoulders to get up. “I still dragged you into my madness and you followed me!”

“I’m your battle buddy, and I have your six.”

“And now you are the first shirt in the Unit and that was my way of watching your six,” Eliot mumbled. “I need to pee and I’m going to take a beer from the fridge to replace the liquid I’ll drain!”

“Bring me one!”

Eliot flicked Shelley off over Quinn’s head and moved inside the house with a short, easy trot. Quinn leaned forward and rested his elbows in his knees wondering how they would fill the silence between them. They had only one thing in common and, at the moment, that topic was too busy squeezing his kidney. Shelley sat on the long chair and looked at Quinn, Quinn noticed he had the same gaze that Eliot: calm but deep.

“He’s such a weirdo,” Shelley said to break the silence with a small shake of the head, “but I love him like the brother I never had.”

“You have a history,” Quinn replied because that was the banalest thing that came to his mind. If Shelley caught Quinn implied they got laid, good for him.

“We have stories that will turn your hair gray,” Shelley admitted with a faint smile. “Still, the weirdest time was Eliot turning in qualifying papers and comprehensive exams after…”

The words trailed off in the warm summer breeze. Quinn peered at Shelley and then let his eyes wander to the light of the moon dancing on the pool. Quinn was not about to confess to the fact that Eliot had told him his most damning secret unless Shelley spilled the beans first.

“After Kahmard,” Shelley said finally in a sober tone.

“He told me about Kahmard.”

“Yeah, I assumed he did,” Shelley said, passing his hand over the short bristles of his head. “I wasn’t sure: Eliot never speaks of it.”

 _And you can bet your sweet ass I won’t either_ , Quinn thought, looking at the pool. Shelley sighed, took off his boots, and kept looking at Quinn before resuming his monologue. 

“Kahmard changed him,” Shelley said almost to himself. “Eliot wanted to know who had done that to him; he needed to know. He chased that understanding with frenzied mania and swung between that obsession and a new one, it was then when he became the sex fiend he is.” He looked at Quinn with a small, incredulous smile. “Would you believe me if I told you that, before Kahmard, he was saving himself for his fiancée in Kentucky?”

Quinn shook his head mostly to dispel the image of Eliot with a faceless woman. Eliot never told Quinn he was engaged once.

“After Kahmard I had to save his butt more than once because he liked to get reamed out by our Kurd allies at the first provocation. It was shocking to find him bent over with his whole battle rattle over his back and that haunted expression in his face…”

“Was he reenacting?”

“I don’t think so, I think he didn’t even know why he was doing it,” Shelley replied with a shrug. “His studies kept him from being in trouble, so I joined him when he asked me to, but it wasn’t enough. Eliot got reckless, even cruel… And the job was getting us dirtier and dirtier, I knew I had to get him out of the Army when he turned his ‘16 on a bunch of school children.”

Quinn crossed his arms and leaned back, realizing those were the kids on Eliot’s nightmares. He didn’t have much time to dwell, the kitchen light shone upon them and Quinn had a good glance of Shelley's face: there was worry in his expression.

“I like you,” Shelley said under the glare of the kitchen. “The world is full of amateurs, but you are a professional.”

Quinn felt his lips thinning; This was a repetition of the album scene and he really didn’t appreciate all the ‘take care of Eliot’ spiel. Eliot came back with his arms full of bottles, he gave Quinn the first one and then handed one to Shelley. Shelley looked at the bottle and offered Eliot the butt of it. Eliot tapped the glass with care and the sound of colliding glass shimmered over the patio. 

“Why the silence?” Eliot asked once he returned to his place, his arm around Quinn’s neck again. “Were you sharing secrets?”

“We were playing a round of ‘who knows Eliot more’.” Shelley lied seamlessly. “So, movies?”

“Easy,” Quinn sipped his beer before answering. “Westerns are a safe bet; Chick flicks never; Action movies if you wanted him to rant...”

“...they got the firing sound wrong!” Shelley added over Quinn’s words.

Eliot laughed loudly. Quinn leaned on that arm around his body, happy because Eliot was happy. This segmented life of his, so confusing to Quinn, had helped Eliot be the man he loved; he better began to get in line with the script.

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

The door burst open before they had finished breakfast and Quinn, who was used to knocking out cold at least three men in a minute, learned the true meaning of a menace.

Children crying out, women blowing air kisses, everyone speaking at the same time, Eliot exclaiming excitedly at each face that came his way… Quinn found a quiet corner and kept his silence. After fifteen minutes enduring the sustained assault, Quinn gathered that a) Shelley had four sisters; b) Shelley had eleven nephews and nieces, and c) every one of them was as loud, as extroverted, and as upbeat as him. No husband in sight, which was odd. Quinn figured out that the sheer amount of people was the reason for Eliot's warning to wear his swimming suit under his slacks.

“You are only loved because you keep my brother alive, don’t you know?” Sophie—a tall, statuesque woman that Quinn deemed fit to model bikinis—said to Eliot after she hugged him.

“I know,” Eliot acknowledged with a sly smile. “You have been repeating that for fifteen years!”

“Since you dropped me!” 

“I didn’t drop you!” Eliot clarified with a small rise of the eyebrow. “I just didn’t want to have my hand inside your cheerleading skirt, because bro’s…”

“Before hoes?” Sophie interrupted with a disapproving look.

“...sisters are sacred.” Eliot refused and started a rant that mixed with the general dint of a medium size dining room.

Research finalized, he could retreat to the dark recesses of his mind and feel pity for himself because he never had what Eliot had had. He was trying to escape into the memories of luxury he had in his childhood in search of comfort when he felt a hand touching the inside of his leg, too close to his crotch for comfort.

“ _Sakra!_ ” Quinn exclaimed and took a step back, cursing because he allowed himself to stare into stupid when he should be paying attention.

“Who are you?” A young boy, maybe five years, asked and pointed at him with one of Eliot’s cookies in his pudgy hand.

“He’s Tony!” Shelley said, snatching the kid because he probably noticed Quinn’s face when he checked the chocolate smear in his nice khaki pants. “He’s uncle Eliot’s boyfriend!”

The subsequent hullabaloo stunned Quinn as he was passed from one sister to the other. If kisses were dollars he could have paid that outstanding hospital bill that same evening. 

“I thought uncle Eliot was your boyfriend!” The kid on Shelley’s arms complained in a whiny tone that pierced Quinn’s confusion.

“I don’t have boyfriends or girlfriends,” Shelley explained as he was about to blow a raspberry on the kid’s belly, “I love you all too much to share you!”

“This!” Sophie was complaining to Eliot while Sam, a fiery little ball of a woman was hugging the life out of Quinn, “You are settling for _this_!?”

“Eliot has a boyfriend now!” Stella the oldest, a gorgeous woman with a tall hairdo, screamed before Eliot could get a world in, “Stop barking at the wrong tree!”

Sam let Quinn go by Eliot's side at the same time Sandra started to herd her herd of boisterous kids out of the house. Eliot, with a lopsided smile, steadied Quinn in a half hug.

“Did Stella mouthed ‘bitch’ or I had a hallucination brought on by overstimulation?” Quinn asked Eliot in German as the noise moved to the backyard.

“You bet!”

“Does your boy need a moment to sort out his ticker?” Shelley asked in a loud cry from the back door, surrounded by a gaggle of kids.

“We’ll be there in a moment!” Eliot shouted back. Quinn wondered if Eliot needed the silence more than him.

“Where are the husbands?” Quinn asked and extended his hand to his forgotten orange juice.

“They are never at home when Shelley comes,” Eliot muttered as if that was the whole explanation while Quinn drank his juice.

Quinn had spent enough time with Eliot to know he was not sharing.

“Keep me in the loop, pal,” Quinn insisted as he placed the empty glass on the table.

“Shelley and I thrashed them out of the house,” Eliot said, finishing his coffee, “because I took exception to them picking on my battle buddy and Shelley got my six. They didn’t like a couple of battle fairies kicking their asses so hard they are still feeling it.”

Quinn let out a short bark of laughter. This was going to be a fun day for sure. 

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

At the end of the backyard, they were a full jungle gym and three single bars and Quinn and Eliot joined the family. Quinn spent his childhood under Eastern Bloc gymnastic trainers—His father didn’t mind as long as his kid was fit; his mother really didn’t care—and he thought he could amuse himself with his physicality for hours, but he had never seen people so immersed in their own bodies. 

Quinn sat next to Sandra under the shadow of the trees and looked at the tykes trying cartwheels, the older kids helping each other, and Shelley and his sisters seeming to be playing a game of their own on the horizontal bars: Quinn got tired of watching them skin the cat, doing flawless jaegers, handstands, and giants, as soon as one lost grip, they were going out of the game, until Shelley noticed he was the last man standing.

“I won!” Shelley exclaimed and did a celebratory Kovacs; even Quinn felt the burn of that one. “Again!”

“Only because you are the baby!” Sadie screamed spitefully and almost doubled over in rage.

“Come at me again when you had popped out three kids!” Stella, the first woman out, cried out from her place next to Sandra. 

Sophie didn’t comment on a thing: she was too busy going to the pool deck, shedding her shirt. Quinn noticed Eliot followed her with her eyes and, despite his professional mask, Quinn could tell, Eliot's gaze had plenty of things to look at.

“Come here, Eliot!” Shelley taunted, hanging from the bar with one hand. “Let's have a match out for old times sake.”

The kids stopped their games, looking at their uncle with an expectant gaze. Sam sat cross-legged in the grass, Saddie moved to the bars and even Stella paid some attention.

“It wouldn’t be fair to you!” Eliot shouted at him. 

“Come and tell that to my face!”

“If you don’t mind…” Eliot mumbled and looked at Quinn.

“By all means…” Quinn replied, making an open signal of invitation.

Eliot took his shirt off, passed under the bar to face Shelley, and looked at his friend with distrust in his face.

“I’m not going to touch that bar until I get the rules.”

“Another sore loser!” Shelley dismounted and looked at Sadie. “Come on, make the rules if you are ready to be the judge…”

“Ok, boys, these are the rules,” Sadie said, fixing her baseball cap. “The challenge is doing wide pull-ups, that means, your collarbones should be above the bar: chin-ups are no-no!”

“Saddie is a PE coach,” Sandra informed Quinn, full of motherly pride. Quinn nodded, full of fake cordiality.

“Legs straight down: crossing feet are a no-no!” Sadie kept reciting the rules. “This is not a rep game, the first one to slow down, loses! Any question?”

“All clear,” Shelley said after consulting Eliot with a glance. “Ready to bite the dust?”

“No,” Eliot said, extending his hand, “but I sure hope you are.”

“In your dreams!” Shelley replied and slapped that hand.

With that battle cry, Shelley and Eliot jumped to the bar covering the whole span of the bar with their arms. Quinn noticed they raised with martial precision and looked at each other over the bar as the kids began to count. A friendly challenge was nothing to catch Quinn’s attention, in fact, he had begun to look into stupid again when he noticed the kids were on double digits territory, that cannot be right.

“Twenty-two!”

“You are tired,” Eliot taunted Shelley over the bar.

“Shut the BLANK up!” 

“Twenty-three!”

“All those pirouettes really did a number with your endurance, just sayin’!”

Shelley grumbled something in a language Quinn didn’t understand but that made Eliot smile.

“Twenty-four!”

A chorus of disappointed groans came from the kids instead of the number when Eliot pulled himself up and Shelley couldn’t keep the pace.

“Another one for Eliot!” Sadie called it out.

“Told you it wasn’t fair to you!” 

“Rematch!”

“First light tomorrow, once you have had some R&R!”

The kids moaned their disenchantment, but Shelley moved to them with a wide smile.

“Race you to the pool!” Shelley screamed and began running, taking his shirt as he moved. “Let the devil take the hindermost!”

“Shelley ADAM **GALTON**!” Sandra shouted in her better maternal tone.

“Sorry, mom!” Shelley tossed his shorts over his shoulder. “Soldier’s talk!”

Stella rolled her eyes and got up to lift kids’ clothes from the grass, her sister’s tossed shirts and shorts to her arms. Quinn had to fight the laughter, it was obvious the biggest kid was Shelley and they were used to pick up after him.

“Let’s go to take a swim,” Eliot invited with a small tilt of the head, “it might do you good.”

“Help Sandra there,” Quinn said, noticing the matriarch was having some trouble managing the grass. “I’ll take out my clothes here and meet you in the water.”

Eliot didn’t argue, he moved with that quick trot that Quinn always found sexy. The silence around the bars was soothing, Quinn looked at the apparatus as he unbuttoned his shirt, feeling more homesick for his pole than for his city. By the time he folded his dirty khakis and stood in his swimming trunks, Quinn had set his mind: He walked to the bars, held the pole, and hoisted himself up.

Pole dancing was better than yoga, more relaxing. Quinn gripped the pole with his legs and stretched his back, feeling the familiar movement like a caress. He tried some combinations, a simple split, some attitude and that felt good; his heart wasn’t acting up. After a couple of movements, Quinn tried a half flag, with his head hanging, down and he realized with alarm that his chest was getting tight. He was coughing hard by the time he dismounted.

“Shelley!” Sam's voice came from miles away, through thick layers of Quinn’s heartbeat. “Eliot!”

Quinn held the pole and coughed because the option was to fall face first and choke on the grass. Eliot and Sam were running to him, but Quinn was feeling lightheaded and his chest hurt so badly. There was not enough air in the world to fill his lungs and his ears only could hold the sound of his frantic heart.

Sam and Eliot help Quinn, gasping for air, move to a clear while shouting everyone to stop crowding around. Sam slid two fingers on the band of Quinn’s swimming trunks to make sure it was not too tight before letting Eliot, still dripping from the pool to help him sit. Eliot and Sam were speaking rapidly, Quinn didn’t have the time to try to make sense of their voices; air refused to get into his hurting chest.

“Easy, Quinn,” Eliot mumbled and held Quinn against his chest, his knee helping Quinn to stay seated. “Nice deep breaths.”

Quinn tried to comply, but it felt like someone was letting all the weight of his sins on his chest; he was going to die because he could resist everything except temptation. He was going to die surrounded by strangers...

“Make way!” Shelley screamed as he came running with Quinn’s carry-on in his hands.

Quinn felt how Shelley held him upright while Eliot rummaged the bag, looking for the albuterol spray Quinn had only used once or twice since he was released from the hospital. Eliot found the thing and put it into Quinn’s mouth when he felt he was about to faint for lack of oxygen. The chemical mist tasted horrible, but it worked miracles. The first mouthful of air tasted so sweet Quinn almost wanted to cry. Eliot hit him a second time and Quinn felt the iron ring around his ribs loosening.

“Pole dancing!?”

“It’s mainstream now, you know?” Eliot sounded belligerent. “He has a mean grip with those legs…”

“I’m taking your word on that,” Shelley conceded with a chuckle. “How are you doing, Quinn?”

“You are going to chaff,” Quinn replied, taking another breath of that blessed air. 

“But you are going to live, and that’s a net positive for this world,” Shelley rebutted with a smile, “If you don’t need me, I need to explain this SNAFU to the small fry.”

Eliot made a dismissive gesture and held Quinn for a long time in silence; when Quinn stirred, Eliot was ready to offer him the inhaler. Quinn shook his head and leaned forward to cough out a bit of phlegm.

“I can’t turn my back to you,” Eliot grumbled and sat by his side, “if I do you’ll kill yourself! What were you thinking?” 

“I wasn’t,” Quinn admitted between coughs, “I think I got _Knüttelnostalgie_ …”

“My German isn’t what it used to be, but shouldn’t that be _Stangenostalgie_?”

“Still applies…”

Eliot chuckled and Quinn kept breathing, marveled by how easy it was. After a bit, Eliot made him stand up because it wasn’t good for Quinn to be under the sun while taking medication or without sunscreen. Quinn didn’t complain because he felt better and thirst was creeping on him. Eliot helped him get to the poolside where Sandra had already reserved him a spot under a wide, striped umbrella, next to the refreshment table.

It took Quinn five minutes to push Eliot away, but he managed that in the end. Eliot jumped into the pool with an elated cry— _INCOMING!_ —and Quinn laughed aloud when his cannonball splashed everyone. That was a scene to remember: another picture for his photo album. Sunscreen, mineral water, and a lie down sounded perfect at this moment, but his ears picked up a word. 

“ _Schwuler_ …”

Was it the first time Quinn was called that? No, of course. He had heard it in a dozen languages by now, but this one was his father’s favorite one. The word stung in ways he didn’t expect, but the fact she had used German, oh, German… If this woman felt comfortable enough insulting Quinn in his ancestral tongue, she had another thing coming. Quinn took a deep breath and let the principles instilled by his father— _Never surrender, Never tell the whole truth_ —took over. 

“It’s killing you, isn’t it?” Quinn mumbled in his accentless German, picking up the sunscreen bottle she had just left on the floor, “To know you have this wide, wet cunt and he wants none of it? _Du Ärmste!_ ”

Sophie looked at him with surprise, as if she wasn’t expecting Quinn to know German. Quinn splattered himself at leisure, looking at Eliot playing with the kids with a benevolent smile. Quinn kept her under surveillance, but he abstained from making another comment. Diplomacy, after all, was the art of giving your enemies just enough rope to hang themselves. For a moment, Sophie looked like she was about to speak, but Quinn didn’t let her. 

“Or is it the thought that I can have Eliot Spencer on his knees, sucking my hard cock whenever I like…?” Quinn asked her, still in German, without sparing her a look. 

If Quinn would have slapped her across the face, he was sure, her expression would have shown less shock, but he was not done yet. 

“Sorry,” Quinn returned her sunscreen lotion with a bright, candid smile, “were you under the misguided impression I was playing the _Lustknabe_ in this game?”

Quinn thought his own face had made that same expression during his attack: panic-stricken and starving for a gulp of air. Schadenfreude bathed Quinn better than the sun. Sophie finally took a breath but Quinn coughed with affectation, both hands over his face. Eliot was out of the pool in less than five seconds.

“Quinn!” Eliot barked like he was expecting his boyfriend to square his shoulders. “I heard you cough! Are you alright?”

“I’m OK, Eliot,” Quinn reassured his man and smiled at him again. “Sophie just gave me a start. Why didn’t you tell me someone around here speaks such flawless German?”

“I forgot,” Eliot confessed with a smile still in his lips before leaning forward, both of his hands around Quinn’s face. “She hadn’t spoken German _to me_ since she got married.”

Eliot kissed Quinn with care and tenderness. Quinn knew his fake cough had scared his boyfriend and guilt washed over his head like a bucket of cold water and he endured it just for the sake to indulge the cattiness he had inherited from his mother.

“It is good you have someone to talk to, I mean, someone who doesn’t have my horrible accent,” Eliot mumbled and turned to Sophie. “She lived in Germany for years. Her diploma is from the Technical University of Munich.”

“Impressive.” Quinn flashed the woman with a brilliant smile, “Where is your husband, Sophie?”

“In Munich,” Sophie said with the sweetest voice, but he looked at Quinn like she wanted to disembowel him, “visiting his family.”

“That’s a wonderful city!” Quinn said, completely sure the man went away to get some rest from this woman.

Eliot, sure that they both had a lot to talk about, kissed Quinn again and returned to the pool where the kids were screaming for him. Sophie kept his silence but kept looking at Quinn like she wanted to mount his head on the wall. Quinn wanted to laugh, but he pulled his leg inside the shadow, looked at Eliot, and smiled as if he didn’t care about those looks. 

“He will get tired of you someday,” Sophie said when she noticed her gaze had no effect. Quinn, after all, had had a life-worth of training in bearing that kind of pressure.

“Maybe…” Quinn agreed and laid back on the long chair, “but that doesn’t mean he would come running into your arms.”

Sophie huffed, picked up her stuff, and moved inside the house. Quinn crossed his arms behind his head, sure he was going to pay for making her mad, but that was a problem for later.

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

Shelley’s sisters went away a little after sundown with a clatter of kid stuff and whines that demanded to stay with their “new uncle”; Quinn knew immediately he made a mistake when he joined the water party. Shelley helped them get their brood into their cars and returned with some beers. 

They enjoyed silence floating in the still warm water while Sandra picked up the leftover wieners and patties Shelley and Eliot grilled when the sun began to fall to feed the army of hungry kids. Eliot finally got his barbeque and Quinn resented he was not the man by his side. Eliot argued with Shelley next to the grill, but Quinn didn’t get the gist: they spoke Arabic and looked at Quinn with small smiles. So, he was the topic of their discussion...

“If you speak another word in Arabic,” Quinn stood in the pool when they began to argue again, “I’m going to take personal offense.”

“Bad habits,” Eliot said by way of excuse. “Shelley was asking why Sophie looked at you with murderous intent the whole day. I told him I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” Shelley splashed a bit and came closer. “Why did my sister look like she wanted your hide?”

“Because I told her that, if someone was entitled to Eliot Spencer’s cock, that was me.”

Eliot’s jaw hung so low at that declaration that he was in danger of drowning while standing in the pool; Shelley, by his side, let out a short bark of laughter and saluted Quinn with his bottle. Quinn was quick to stifle the swell of pride in his chest.

“Come on, Eliot,” Shelley replied and punched Eliot playfully in the shoulder. “You know as well as me that Sophie had had it coming for a long time. Tony here…”

“Please, call me Quinn.”

“Quinn here was within his rights to call out my most vicious sister,” Shelley corrected himself seamlessly. “Anyone could tell three kids were not enough to make her leave High School!”

Eliot closed his mouth and made no comment.

“You were just too polite to call her ‘bitch’ like everyone around her,” Shelley concluded with a small shrug. “Know what, Quinn? The pool is getting cold and I have some cold cuts and red wine squirreled away. We _must_ celebrate that someone finally stood up to the Wicked Witch of West Germany!”

“Wine...?” Eliot began to rant.

“Bull!”, Shelley cut him out. “Your boy here is European, and red wine is good for the heart!”

Eliot finished his beer and looked at Quinn with disappointment painted across the face.

“For someone who flaunts his education…”

“I hope you are not implying that because I’m the son of a staunch eugenicist I have to be loyal to everyone who could pass a _Rassenhygiene_ test,” Quinn said and looked at Eliot in the face. It hurt that Eliot didn’t take his side this time when he was obviously the grieving party. “I can't do anything right, can I?” 

“That’s not what I meant!”

“You have been setting me up for a fall this whole trip, pal,” Quinn accused and felt exhausted. The little _faux passes_ were weighing down on his shoulders and he was tired of playing defense. “You know I can’t fit here.”

“It’s just a family reunion!” Eliot protested and took his wet hair from his face with both hands; his frustration was patent. “I didn’t think you would have any problem managing women and kids!”

“Tell me, Eliot,” Quinn demanded with a professional expression, “do I look like a man with an excess of experience in women and kids?”

Eliot put his empty bottle on the poolside and moved closer with hurt in his eyes. Quinn knew his words hurt Eliot because this was not Eliot’s family, but it was the closest thing he had, and Quinn had just rejected it.

“I was not setting you up for anything; I wasn’t thinking.”

“You and I know it’s dangerous to stop thinking during a job.”

“This is not a job,” Eliot mumbled and tried to hug Quinn. Quinn took a step back and Eliot nodded. “This is family. I wasn’t thinking you could be upset by the kids or by Shelley’s sisters.” Eliot let his shoulders drop. “I have known them for so long.”

“Longer than me…”

This time, Eliot’s face looked alarmed, but Quinn didn’t experience any guilt.

“You fit so well with me,” Eliot finally said in a defeated murmur, “I wanted them to meet the person that makes me happy…”

 _Snesl bych ti modré z nebe_ … Quinn thought, feeling regret and fury and despair, all rolled into one and stuck to his gullet. _I can’t be around kids, not when there is probably another kid for my father to torture soon; I can’t be around mothers, not when mine only threatened to kill my father when she learned her husband was trying to make another kid for her to play mom; I can’t be around your friend because he reminds me I would never be the one who really knows you..._ Tears rolled down Quinn’s cheeks. _You are deluded: I’m unfit. I will never be the perfect piece that matches you. Sophie was right. You will find a better partner and I… and I… and even so_ … Eliot, without asking permission crossed the space between them and wiped Quinn’s tears with his wet, gentle hand. _You just have to ask and snesl bych ti modré z nebe_ …

Eliot pressed Quinn against his chest; Quinn felt Eliot’s strong heart beating against his weak one. Eliot’s arms around him holding him tight, sharing his warmth, provided some meager comfort. Eliot was mumbling he was so sorry if he had hurt Quinn, but the drone of his words didn’t soothe Quinn’s pain.

“We were supposed to go back tomorrow,” Eliot said after Quinn melted in his arms. “Just say the word and I’ll pick everything up and hit the road right now.”

“I can’t steal you from your family, _drahoušku_ ,” Quinn mumbled with a completely fake quick, witty tone. 

Eliot looked like he was about to say something, but Quinn didn’t want to hear it. Kisses were about to become a precious commodity soon, Quinn better gets all they could from Eliot before… before...

“Ooops!” Shelley’s voice reached them in the middle of the pool. “I forgot the corkscrew!”

Eliot didn’t mind him and Quinn allowed Eliot’s expert kiss to drown out his hurtful thoughts and his despair.

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

Quinn had two seconds of disorientation when he woke up on that strange couch. The touch spooked him until he recognized the caress, Eliot’s hand was on his back, rubbing his spine. Under the lazy early morning sun, Quinn recalled they had cheese and wine and a silly movie that made Eliot and Shelley groan. It was the earliest hour of a Sunday morning…

“Shelley’s mom likes going to church each Sunday,” Eliot informed him, still rubbing Quinn’s back. “You will soon hear the house come to life.” 

“Church…” Quinn groaned. He had never been dragged to a temple before, not even for his own christening. 

“Hear me out: you are not feeling well, you can’t go to the service,” Eliot whispered in Quinn's ear. “So, keep sleeping…”

Quinn nodded and let the caress lull him back to sleep.

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

Quinn slept way into the morning and his hostess, dressed so differently from the days before with earrings and pearls, found him bathed, combed, and dressed nicely and lounging languidly when she returned with Shelley and Eliot behind her, looking like a pair of rascals brooding over the prospect of a well-earned discipline session. Eliot smiled at him and moved to the couch without consulting with Shelley.

“Are you feeling better?” Eliot asked and extended his hand to rub Quinn’s neck. “Did you take your pills?”

“Yes, just a bit, and yes,” Quinn couldn’t help but smile at the caress.

“May the Lord grant you health,” Sandra commented and moved to the kitchen. “Now, be patient boys and I’ll check the Sunday meal.”

“Let me help you,” Eliot said after a quick peek at Quinn’s face. 

“Better you than Shelley!”

“I’ll set the table, mom!” Shelley promised and sat by Quinn.

“Sandra’s not happy with you two.”

“No, she’s not.” Shelley agreed and turned on the TV looking for a sports event. “Eliot’s to blame. He never knows when to stop arguing…”

Quinn chuckled, folded his hands over his belly, and made a big show of paying attention to the screen. The meat on the oven was roasting, Eliot’s voice arguing with Sandra and Shelley’s groans at the game allowed Quinn to look into stupid like never before. Half-time came and Shelley trotted to the kitchen and returned with a couple of sodas.

“Thank you for letting me have him over for a couple of days,” Shelley said and offered Quinn one of the bottles. “He’s a pain in the butt, but I miss his strong head every day.”

“There is nothing to thank me for,” Quinn was quick to answer while he took the bottle. Eliot never asked for his consent to this excursion. “I think he wanted an excuse to see you.” 

“Thank you for being the excuse, then!”

Quinn shook his head and sipped his bottle. The great mystery of this trip was how Eliot managed to argue with this man.

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

Sun was falling down when Eliot said his goodbyes and dragged Quinn’s bag to his pickup. Quinn lingered back, thanked Sandra for her hospitality, and exchanged another of those perfect handshakes with Shelley before Shelley followed him down the short stair to hug Eliot one last time. Quinn looked at them and wondered, for the hundredth time that weekend if they had slept together during their time in the Army.

“I go back in the field in two weeks, Prom King” Shelley informed Eliot while Quinn made himself comfortable at the shotgun spot.

“Don't you go there trying to get a range named after you,” Eliot replied and slapped Shelley’s back. “I can’t be there to watch your six, Prom Queen.”

“You did great,” Shelley smiled and let Eliot go. “I learned a lot.”

“I sure hope!” Eliot climbed inside the pickup and slapped the door, “I had to teach you to keep the plates inside your plate carrier!”

Shelley laughed, Eliot got the motor running and soon they were moving through the residential area in search of the highway. Quinn let him drive for a while and once they reached cruising speed Quinn asked the question he had been aching to ask.

“He’s not gay, is he?”

“Who?”

“Your friend.”

“Shelley’s Shelley,” Eliot replied in a perfect circular fashion. “He’s a virgin, that I know. And I have never seen him interested in a woman or a man.” Eliot kept his eyes on the road. “The Army is his life.”

“Why are you two so close then?” Quinn looked through the window to the wide-open space. 

“Because he singled me out in BMT,” Eliot replied and gripped the steering wheel. “Quarterbacks and Cheerleaders are natural allies.” Eliot shrugged. “Maybe because he was supposed to be in that Humvee when the Kahmard fiasco happened and he feels guilty.” Another shrug. “Maybe because we kept each other safe for too long.”

Quinn was grateful because Eliot couldn’t see his expression.

“Any other question?” Eliot asked; his voice sounded strained.

“Why didn’t you stop me when I put salt in my food?”

“Sandra has a heart condition.” Eliot’s voice lost a bit of stress. “I knew her salt shakers are sodium-free and her food was good for you.”

Eliot extended his hand and patted Quinn’s leg.

“I got your six,” Eliot said like it was a promise. “And from now on, we won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”

Quinn extended his hand and held Eliot’s because he wanted to believe that promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to play with the American cliché of every trite movie: pool party, grilled food, and family drama. The main focus here was Eliot getting blindsided by his old habits and Quinn getting a taste of the American life he had never properly experienced. I just love to write Shelley because I love undeveloped characters.
> 
> Speaking of Shelley, you might have noticed I gave him a full name because why not. I liked to play with the symmetry between those two men with names of a poet: T. S. Eliot and his chaotic, modernistic poetry and Shelley's unbounded passion. I must admit, the first thing I thought when I heard Eliot Spencer was of Herbert "survival of the fittest" Spencer so, as Eliot followed Shelley, Spencer followed Francis "what nature does slowly and ruthlessly, the man may do quickly and kindly" Galton. How's that for nominative determinism?


	3. The house that you build

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot wooed Quinn to the best of his abilities, but Quinn's soul, poorly habituated to kindness, resented Eliot's efforts. To build a house, you need steady ground...

Quinn rested his weight against Eliot’s naked shoulder and enjoyed Eliot’s arm over his. Eliot was absorbed reading Quinn’s wishlist, a list Eliot demanded to have this very afternoon, but he was tracing slow circles on Quinn’s skin. They had a couple of resting days at Randy’s where Randy kept teaching Quinn about his traditions and Eliot kept bickering with his uncle. It was Tuesday night and Randy, as usual, went to bed early, so they could be a little closer to each other in Eliot’s teenage room, under the star quilt.

“Number seven and number nine are the same,” Eliot complained after a while. “And you know your heart can’t stand it.”

“Well, it’s a wishlist, as you demanded,” Quinn and closed his eyes; he felt his lips curling in a smile that he hoped it wasn’t too smug. “I had to write I wanted some raunchy sex.”

“Fair,” Eliot conceded. “I think we can manage numbers two and six and eleven and fourteen without any trouble. Do I need to wear a tux for number six?”

“I’ll settle down for a button-up shirt and clean jeans.”

“I know a place. Food is good…” 

Quinn knew that silence and he turned his eyes to look at Eliot’s face. Eliot had that expression that Quinn had learned to love and to fear: it was the same slightly raised eyebrow, just slightly parted lips, eyelids gently falling until the eyelashes almost touched the skin and nostrils barely flared that Eliot composed just before he was about to get naughty and adventurous with one or another part of Quinn’s anatomy.

“You are not thinking about food.”

“No, I’m not.”

“And you surely are not thinking of my number seven or nine.”

“I can think about them just fine,” Eliot put the list on the night table and leaned forward. His lips brushed against Quinn’s. “I just won’t act on my thinking or give you seven or nine.”

“Then,” Quinn mumbled and turned on his side. His lips brushed against Eliot’s, “you have to share your thoughts, my friend. I don’t read minds.”

Eliot turned off the light and settled next to Quinn with a warm hug. Quinn shivered and smiled in the dark. For a moment, he forgot about his heart, about his father, about everything, and enjoyed the safety of Eliot’s embrace. 

“I want to do something else when we go to fulfill your request number six,” Eliot explained and rested his chin on Quinn’s head, “but I need you to trust me. Let me have this thing I know you would enjoy secret for a couple of days.”

Quinn felt the rush of distrust, like a dark wave of cold water, and he could tell Eliot noticed because he began to rub Quinn’s back with the same ease he would pet a spooked colt. Eliot’s knee pushed between Quinn’s legs and the hug became tighter when Quinn pulled Eliot closer.

“I know I have been a rotten partner these last days, but I’d bet you would like this.”

“Why do you need the secret?”

“I want to be sure I can do it,” Eliot kissed Quinn’s head. “I don’t want to tell you and then disappoint you when I can’t deliver.”

“Can I say no, even if you managed to plan it to perfection?”

“Yes.”

The word hung between them in the dark. Quinn bent his neck and nuzzled Eliot, wondering what his secret was; pondering if he should put his trust in Eliot. After a while, Quinn found the will to bet.

“You can keep your secret,” Quinn conceded and cuddled closer. 

“Thank you,” Eliot whispered and kissed Quinn’s head again. “Now, grab twenty winks…”

Quinn closed his eyes and began to go through the photo album in his mind in the search for pleasant dreams.

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

Eliot trotted to the pickup with a battered backpack that held Quinn’s medicines and a jacket. Quinn walked slowly, feeling strange inside one of old Eliot’s jeans. Eliot refused to cross number two of Quinn’s wishlist if Quinn was wearing chinos or khakis; Quinn was sure this sarge was twenty years old at least.

“Have fun, _Yonva_ ,” Randy commanded as he planted a baseball cap firmly on Quinn’s head. 

“I’ll try,” Quinn promised and tried not to antagonize the old one by removing the hat.

Eliot laid down his weight on the horn and Randy grunted. Quinn moved to the pickup, opened the shotgun door, and stopped. Eliot looked at him with a strange expression but Quinn was too busy taking the perfect picture of his tousled hair, jeans, a white t-shirt, and an open plaid shirt with rolled-up sleeves. Quinn fixated in his memory his arm and the leather bracelet around his wrist and the way the sun fell on him through the dirty windshield. 

“What?” Eliot almost spat and his brow knotted. “Please, don’t tell me you need to pee _again_!”

“Don’t give me any ideas,” Quinn replied with his usual ironic tone and climbed up, taking the hat off. “Sometimes I forgot how stunningly good looking you are and I have to take a second glance.”

“Ugh…” Eliot grumbled and looked away. “Shut up!”

“Not until you learn how to take flattery.”

Eliot turned around as if he was about to rant but kept his mouth closed. Quinn heard Randy’s grunt next to him and turned with a start. Randy was out of the passenger window, holding a paper bag for them to take.

“Snacks?” Quinn asked and Randy nodded. Quinn picked up the bag. “Thank you.”

“Have fun!”

Randy grunted again and returned to his home. Eliot let out an annoyed grunt and turned on the engine and managed the driveway backward while grumbling between his teeth. Quinn refrained from peering into the bag because that would send Eliot into a rant and he really wanted to enjoy the outing. Instead, Quinn turned his attention to the red baseball cap with the big OSU embroidered with golden thread until they reached the highway.

“So, where are we going?” Quinn asked once Eliot relaxed enough in the traffic.

“Do you remember what you asked for?” Eliot took his eyes away from the road just to flash Quinn a mischievous grin.

“I do,” Quinn said and tried the baseball cap again. It still felt kind of weird, but Quinn was starting to like the feeling. “I wanted you to take me to a place you enjoyed when you were young.”

Quinn made a big show of looking at the way the hat looked on him in the rearview mirror. Eliot was a sharp tool and might have noticed Quinn wanted a quid pro quo after he shared his beloved Christmas markets. Curiosity had been almost unbearable since last night when Eliot told him what part of the list they were fulfilling. 

“Well, we are going to a place I liked a lot when I was young,” Eliot started to taunt Quinn, “I hope you like noise, food that’s bad for you, and colorful lights.”

“Are we going to a Christmas market?”

Eliot just laughed and kept driving.

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

Quinn looked with elation at the big, colorful entrance. The trembling of the ground was almost electric and the discordant sound almost deafening. Quinn felt like a kid immediately when he realized Eliot had brought him to a carnival, just like the ones in the movies!

“Welcome to the place I spent the best part of my teenage years,” Eliot said putting a big straw hat over his head.

Eliot took him by the hand and pulled him to the entrance, Quinn followed him almost in trance with his eyes trained to all the colorful distractions. He barely noticed Eliot called the security man by name and had the backpack checked; he did notice the man took a couple of Randy’s jerky strips, but he didn’t ask for the entrance tickets.

“And who’s your friend?” The man asked, chewing the end of one of the salty strips.

“Would I bring a friend? Huh?” Eliot asked, pulling Quinn closer. “This is my boyfriend!”

Eliot didn’t wait for an answer, he walked right in with his arm over Quinn’s shoulder. Quinn, doubly stunned by the carnival and Eliot’s admission, had to find a way to anchor himself and wrapped his arm around Eliot’s waist.

“Well, I’ll be damned…!” the entrance guy exclaimed loudly.

For the next few hours, Eliot indulged Quinn’s inner child. Quinn had no wish to try the rides, but they looked at all the stalls and stood in all the shows, even those amateurs covering country music. Eliot was always at hand, always ready to supply a sip of water or to find a bit of shade. No line was too long, no food was too salty, no show was silly enough to make Eliot grumble or lose his cool. If Quinn thought he was spoiled rotten before, this outing put the whole trip into perspective. Quinn began to fear his mental photo album would be saturated soon.

They had lunch sitting on a bench, a couple of corn dogs each, and a big soda to share. Eliot used his straw hat to fan Quinn, grumbling that it was too hot for his heart. Quinn just smiled and took a long sip of the soda.

“Hey, Eliot,” Quinn asked once the dogs were a memory and the soda was just melted ice. “Why does Randy keep calling me _Yonva_?”

“It’s just a nickname, based on your name,” Eliot tried to swat away the question as he fanned himself with his hat.

“Really?” Quinn insisted, leaning on Eliot’s shoulder to catch a breeze. 

“It’s the Tsalagi word for ‘bear’, he doesn’t mean any disrespect.”

“I assume _Waya_ is Tsalagi too.” 

Eliot just nodded and fanned himself.

“What does it mean?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Eliot taunted with a smile. “Tell you what: beat me in any skill game and I’ll tell you.”

Quinn picked up the gauntlet and they began to make rounds through the booths. Eliot, to Quinn’s mortification, was a professional with the darts, tossed bean bags with his back turned to the target, and landed rings with inhuman precision. Each time, he handed Quinn the prize with a smile, and each time Quinn found a kid to give it. Out of desperation, Quinn dragged Eliot to the shooting gallery and was about to challenge him when his eyes fell on that massive big brown plush bear with a red bowtie held high like the best price.

The overwhelming desire of getting the bear fell over Quinn like a curse. It was a silly thing to experience, and an irrational one too, because Quinn never had a teddy bear when he was a kid. Father always thought toys were what was making men weak, if the kid was bored too bad for him. Quinn looked at the bear; it was big enough for a grown man like him to cuddle with and wanted it like he seldom wanted anything.

“My boy wants the bear,” Eliot said, but his voice sounded so distant, Quinn had trouble understanding him. “What do I need to shot down?”

Quinn turned his head just to see some bills exchanged for a rifle.

“You need to get five…” The man on the stand began to explain, pointing at the target inside a little red wooden box.

The muted sound of the low-grade ammunition left the rife in rapid succession. Eliot grunted and offered the rifle to the man. Seven figures were down.

“...figures down…” the man tried to keep explaining but, in the end, he looked at the target, looked at Eliot’s face, picked up his rifle, and sighed.

Eliot stood there, arms crossed, as the man used a hook to bring down the stuffed bear. The night lights began to shine and Quinn had to refrain himself from extending his arms toward the prize. Eliot took it and inspected it; Quinn felt a trepidation ( _You want this? You don’t need this, this is as useless as you!_ ) he couldn’t blame the rides for, but after a moment, Eliot presented Quinn the big brown plush bear to Quinn with both arms extended.

“Here!” Eliot said without expression on his face. “Now you can have something to hug in your sleep in Prague!”

“Thank you!” Quinn replied and he felt his smile was a mile wide and as bright as the moon on a cold night. “This way I won't miss your furry butt!”

“You love my furry butt,” Eliot replied, arms crossed, with a small inclination of the head.

“How else could I miss it?”

Eliot stepped closer, the smile beginning to bloom on his face. Quinn felt his own heartbeat and clutched the bear. When Eliot hugged Quinn, squishing the plush bear between them, the man in the concession-stand tried to look busy. Quinn knew he was half a head taller than Eliot, but at this moment, he felt small; Eliot stood on tiptoes, took the baseball cap off Quinn’s head, and brushed his lips against Quinn’s. 

“Not yet, not yet,” Eliot mumbled, almost to himself. “I’m going to do for you what I never did to the girls I brought here…”

“What was it…?” Quinn asked with the trembling voice of a school-age boy, completely oblivious of Eliot’s past conquests. 

“I’m going to take you to the Ferris wheel,” Eliot promised and half-closed his eyes, “and I’m going to kiss you under the stars, once we reach the top, and every time we reach the top…”

Oh, Quinn was sure he could fit another picture in the photo album of his mind.

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

Quinn took a deep breath and enjoyed the tame sun reaching his naked body from the dense canopy of treetops. It was a stroke of genius that he had put number fourteen on his list.

Eliot woke him up in the dark with all kinds of warnings against making any sound. Quinn got inside his chocolate smeared khakis, the best option he had once Eliot said where they were going. A quick pit stop later, Quinn followed Eliot to the garage to recover Randy’s fishing poles cooler and tack from his old jeep, and then they scurried to Eliot’s pickup.

“For fuck’s sake…” Eliot, who had opened his door first, grumbled when he was faced with a paper bag sitting in the space between the driver and the passenger.

Quinn climbed up and held the laughter, even as Eliot drove out the driveway mouthing profanities the whole time. As Eliot managed the driveway, Quinn looked at the door and, sure as the sun rose, there was Randy, his colorful blanket covering his boxers and t-shirt and making him sort of decent, waving them goodbye with a small, satisfied smile. Eliot must have seen him because he booked it at full throttle.

Noticing the way they were going, Quinn began to count and, as they breezed in front of a ranch house with red bricks, instead of yellow, he took a picture for his mental photo album. Dried weeds, peeling paint, dirty windows… That was a dead house, while Randy’s was so full of life.

“Check if Randy put some jerky in that bag, would you?” Eliot had grumbled, eyes fiercely glued to the road. “I need something to gnaw…”

They drove until the sun began to rise, Eliot drove his pick-up through dirt roads, and they had to climb down and clear some debris until they reached a hidden lake in the middle of virgin forest. Quinn and Eliot enjoyed fishing in silence until midday. Eliot gutted and started a fire and they ate the trouts they caught on it. Then, they fished a bit more until Eliot invited Quinn for a swim.

“Come on,” Eliot insisted, peeling off all his clothes. “It’s hot as heck. Have you seen anyone today?”

Quinn needed little incentive to get naked with Eliot. With a chuckle, he gathered another picture for his mental photo album and dove into the cold water. Weightless, he floated next to Eliot for a bit, before he felt Eliot’s hand on his belly. His boyfriend was so hot… The warmth of his caress made him shiver, Eliot held him in his arms and, legs intertwined and lips locked, they shared a naked embrace Quinn had never imagined before. Oh, that kiss he would take to the grave gladly…

Now, they were drip-drying, laying down on the bed of Eliot’s pick-up truck, over a dusty quilted moving blanket Eliot produced from this toolbox for padding, watching the birds fly from branch to branch. 

“Give me another,” Eliot asked after he failed to pronounce potato salad in Czech right.

“The place where we could get _chlebíčky_ and _bramborový salát_ ,” Quinn indulged, enjoying the warmth, the company, and Eliot’s honest attempts to learn. “ _Lahůdky._ ”

Eliot tried and failed and Quinn held his laughter back. It was never a good idea to shame an apprentice if you want them to become a master. Quinn turned and looked at Eliot, gauging all the signs of frustration.

“Let’s try something easier, _drahoušku_ , try this one: _miluji te_ …”

“What does it mean?” Eliot asked, looking at Quinn with distrust in his eyes.

“If you pronounce it right,” Quinn promised, and leaned forward, “I’ll tell you what it means.”

“Meelew-y tea?” Eliot tried and failed adorably.

“Not quite right,” Quinn encouraged, feeling the word like a caress. “Try again.”

“Melouie-tea?”

“Not quite yet,” Quinn rested his weight on Eliot’s chest. “You are making progress…”

Eliot tried... _Please, Eliot, don't get it right just yet. Even if you keep butchering the language I love the most_ … and failed. _I’m so happy to hear that you love me_. Quinn added a bit of encouragement, corrected the tonic syllable, and asked Eliot to try again… _Tell me you love me again_ and again… 

Quinn did his best to remember the sound of those words to play them back when he went through his photo album later.

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

Quinn looked at his image in the mirror as he fixed the knot of his tie, deliriously happy he still had a clean, well-pressed shirt and some dark slacks that matched his jacket. Putting on a tie was calming, comfortable, like getting into a couple of comfy shoes. Eliot’s clean, citrus, spicy aftershave hung in the air like a promise and gave Quinn a major case of butterflies in the stomach. 

Tonight, Eliot was aiming to fulfill the number six in Quinn’s wishlist, and he had not breathed a word about his surprise!

A final check-in Eliot’s mirror and Quinn found his excitement tempered. Eliot was right, he was too thin, his face looked long, his cheekbones looked too prominent, his hair had grown into an unruly mane that was beginning to curl… His shirt didn’t fit as well as it used to and Quinn wished he could curse his father aloud or howl his grief for all the things that he had ( _taken from me_ ) lost, but his lips were curling faster than his hair. Father wouldn’t rob him the joy of this night nor any other night. Quinn checked his cufflinks, sprayed himself with perfume, and forced his mind to behave.

“No, please!” Eliot exclaimed with frustration in his voice, Quinn gauged he was in the kitchen. “Uncle, I’m taking Quinn to eat out! We don’t need snacks!”

Quinn knew that was his cue: that could escalate into a shouting match that could make them lose their reservation. Eliot, wearing dark slack, a dark jacket, and a baby blue shirt with one of Randy’s dark ties, looked fit for a gentlemen autumn winter-collection. He was still the same impulsive, adorable rube—and Quinn would still suck the life out of him ( _through his cock_ ) with a kiss—who never learned how to make his point across without an excess of hand gestures. 

“Nonsense!” Randy refuted and kept filling a very battered paper bag with calm, measured movements. “You are hitting the road, you need snacks.”

“Like hell I need snacks!” Eliot cried out in sheer desperation without noticing Quinn was approaching.

“ _Waya_ , I would only ride your truck with you on a highway if my life _depended on it_ ,” Randy pointed out and added some of those awesome home-made lemon bars to the bag. Quinn called dibs on those. “You get cranky on highways and the only thing that keeps you _bearable_ are snacks.” Randy handed him the bag with a stern look. “I’m keeping you and _Yonva_ alive!”

“Thank you, Randy,” Quinn said, snatching the bag before Eliot could keep going. “We are going to be late. Shall we go?”

“I don’t get cranky on highways!” Eliot tried to argue with an incensed huff.

“Move,” Quinn commanded without raising his voice but his tone made clear he was not going to tolerate any other objection. “I’m hungry.”

Eliot grumbled, Randy grunted and smiled, and Quinn decreed that, if his father was not allowed to ruin the night, he would be damned if he let a bag of tasty treats to ruin his glee.

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

Quinn closed his eyes and let the ambiance fill his senses. The restaurant was a quiet place filled with all the golden details and dark wood Quinn was used to, gourmet food perfumed the air, the warm glow of soy wax candles, the chords of a street band made their way inside the restaurant, and filled the air with soft jazz. They had just finished a fine three-course meal and their cups are still filled with red wine. It was the perfect night, Eliot was the perfect caring lover, still, Quinn was having trouble to find satisfaction. A dull ache was brewing inside his chest and keeping the smile became a struggle.

“Do you want dessert?” Eliot asked and the touch of his hand on Quinn’s almost brought tears to Quinn’s eyes. “Today they have red fruit parfait in the menu.” The offer was made in a soft, unusually unsure voice. Eliot made a last effort in a sweet whisper: “We can share.” 

Words were stuck into Quinn’s throat. He knew the script, but he couldn’t spit it out. He had to say ‘It’s perfect’ and be willing to share, he had to smile at Eliot… he had to show gratitude to this man who had given him a perfect date so far… He had to smile and to feel blessed because Eliot was still there, eager to have him around despite Quinn being ( _useless, troublesome, annoying, weak_ ) unable to repay ( _I can’t work, taxes are due, savings are almost nonexistent_ ) his kindness in any way ( _I can’t even fuck you!_ ). He had to agree and be thankful and the words, the gestures refused to manifest.

“Quinn, I’m trying,” Eliot mumbled and wrapped his fingers around Quinn’s. They were so warm. “And I’m getting the pretty distinctive impression that the more I try, the more I hurt you.”

Quinn opened his eyes and looked at Eliot’s worried face and that opened the waterworks. Quinn bent his neck and pinched the bridge of his nose but it was less effective than the little Dutch boy strategy. It was irrational to break down like this just because his boyfriend was being nice: Eliot was always nice!

“It’s not that…” Quinn began and stopped among controlled sobs. It was not right to argue this, because it was not Eliot’s fault his father had broken Quinn so badly that he couldn’t enjoy a perfect date. “It’s about the _accident_.”

Eliot, being nice, got up, moved his chair next to Quinn, and pushed his napkin into Quinn’s hand without a word. Quinn heard the server’s steps approaching, but Eliot stopped him with some conciliatory words Quinn couldn’t make sense of. The feeling began to subside and Quinn wanted to hide from the world; Eliot might have noticed it, because he wrapped his arm around Quinn, to shield him from prying eyes.

“It hit me out of the blue,” Quinn confessed to the feeling, using Eliot’s napkin to dab his eyes. “Give me a minute; it will go away.”

“You don’t need to hurry,” Eliot said in a murmur, his fingers running through Quinn’s hair. “I can wait. Dessert can wait.”

Quinn let the half-hug comfort him, between the hand petting his head and Eliot's fragrance Quinn felt his heart returning slowly, but surely to a calm state. He knew he would be functional once he noticed the smell of Eliot’s skin… he could live just to enjoy that aroma.

“What about your surprise?”

“Ok,” Eliot conceded and rocked Quinn playfully. “You have two hours to find your center. Maybe a bit more.”

“What’s the plan?” Quinn asked because having something to talk about helped to drive the crying bout away. “Tell me.”

“Well…” Eliot dithered and rummaged inside his jacket to extract a white envelope. “I better know now if this is going to work or if I better find another thing to do.” Eliot gave Quinn the envelope “Here.” 

The white envelope, one that Quinn wouldn't have minded before, gave him a bit of a scare. Eliot was looking away, trying not to push Quinn one way or the other, trying not to show how much he cared about Quinn’s reaction to the contents. Quinn opened the flap and looked inside.

Tickets.

The envelope contained a couple of tickets to a place called The Boom which, apparently, showed _Kinky Boots_ tonight. Quinn had to reach for the napkin again.

“Hey,” Eliot called out and rocked Quinn’s gently, “we don’t have to go if I got it wrong, or if you don’t like this one in particular, but it’s the only musical I could get tickets to…”

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

Eliot turned out the lights and immediately extended his arms to pull Quinn closer. The huge teddy bear got in the way and Eliot pushed the toy’s head down and used it for a pillow while casting Quinn an incensed look.

“You need to learn to let go of this thing!” Eliot complained, but his hand caressing Quinn’s side was kind.

“Maybe,” Quinn conceded, but his hands clutched this cheap Fair Prize like his life depended on it. “Sensation is too unusual right now to let it go, though.”

“It makes you happy?”

 _Beyond measure, my love_ , Quinn thought and cuddled against the bear, _don’t ask me to explain it. I can’t explain irrationality; madness has its own rules_. Quinn breathed the sweet smell of his newest possession. _It smells like discarded things, like something that had never been loved but now has found a home_. Eliot was struggling to find a way to cuddle with that massive obstacle in his way. _You need to find some way to deal with it: I doubt I’ll ever get tired of it!_ Quinn turned a bit and let Eliot’s arm find a way between the plush toy and Quinn’s neck. 

“Yes.”

Eliot grumbled, but he finally found a way to fit in that mess of a bed situation.

“You want me to put it away?” Quinn asked when regret bit him because he could have his toy later, in Prague, in his own bed, but Eliot… He and Eliot must part ways sooner rather than later.

“Nah, I got you the stupid thing for a reason,” Eliot said and caressed Quinn’s belly. “I just want a better Quinn to bear ratio.”

Quinn laughed and turned around, letting Eliot be the big spoon this time. Eliot cuddled happily and settled against Quinn’s back with a satisfied sigh.

“Powwow is not mandatory,” Eliot said out of the blue after a long while in the dark. “Randy loves you, no matter what.”

“I want to see the regalia,” Quinn protested and clutched his bear. “And to hear the drums. Is it true that you know how to dance?”

“Uncle Randy talks too much sometimes,” Eliot grumbled and clutched Quinn against his chest. “Shut up and grab twenty winks!”

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

The day was still dark when Randy closed the door of his house. Eliot moved Randy’s orange-red jeep out of the garage and managed the difficult driveway so the old-timer didn’t have to. Quinn had helped haul an odd assortment of things to Eliot’s pickup bed and, once, a wicker basket with snacks for the cabin. Apparently, Randy had pegged Quinn for his partner-in-crime very early on and Quinn was sure the old man was elated to have one at last.

“Don’t let _Waya_ know, _Yonva_ …” Randy had whispered in conspiratory tones as he pushed Quinn out of the house.

Eliot and Randy crossed paths without a word, but with a keyfob tossed in the air and caught inconspicuously. Instead of climbing to the cabin, Eliot moved to the door to double-check it was properly locked. Randy screamed at Eliot in his strange language ( _Tsalagi_ ). Quinn chuckled and reclaimed the shotgun spot.

“I know you are not _THAT_ old!” Eliot screamed back and trotted to his truck. The tails of his plaid shirt flapping in the wind. “You know why I did it!”

Randy ranted a bit more—Quinn was sure he was cursing Eliot something awful—, got inside his jeep and left with the hurry of those people old enough to know that they had little to lose in a car crash. Eliot, rolling his eyes, climbed into the cabin and let out an exasperated grunt when he noticed the bicolor wicker basket. Quinn was beginning to enjoy Eliot’s grumbles as he managed the driveway backward and followed Randy’s dust trail.

“What’s the story with the door?” Quinn asked when Eliot finally got Randy into his visual range. The day was still yet to break over the horizon, but the color scheme gave the old jeep great visibility.

“You hear Randy’s jeep?” Eliot pointed at the vehicle with his chin as his hand rummaged inside the wicker basket. 

“I’m not deaf yet,” Quinn replied, he could hear that engine even when they were eight miles apart. Quinn waited his turn at the snack basket and snatched the last home-made lemon bar.

“Neither is my dad,” Eliot replied and bit the apple he fished from the wicker basket. “And uncle Randy’s jeep is not painted in muted colors either.” Eliot stopped to swallow the contents of his mouth. “Any other powwow day, I would be in your place but inside Randy’s, and this lady would be sitting on Randy’s driveway being a better guardian than a pissed off Rottweiler.” 

Quinn had his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth by virtue of a soft cookie or else he would ask why Eliot’s truck would be a deterrent.

“I’m not a good man, Quinn,” Eliot mumbled between bites of the apple. “And dad knows it.”

“And he knows _this_ is your truck.”

Eliot nodded solemnly and minded the road. Quinn took a picture for his photo album when the sun began to rise and Eliot’s face was caressed by the last shadows of the night. Quinn would have given the last of his savings to know what had crossed Eliot’s mind when he made his laconic confession.

“We could have gone with your uncle,” Quinn ventured after a quarter of an hour of silence. “We could have arrived earlier.”

“We need two vehicles,” Eliot explained and shrugged. “You might need a place to rest or you might want to go back early. Powwows are stressful places and I take responsibility for you and your health. I got your six.”

Eliot extended his hand and patted Quinn’s leg, almost absent-mindedly.

“Speaking of which…” Eliot then reached for the back seat and pulled Quinn’s carry on. “Take your pills. You might want to stay the whole day at the powwow.”

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

They rolled through a clearing where caravans, pickup trucks, and all-terrain jeeps congregated; Eliot found a spot under the shadow of some trees and they climbed down. Quinn looked around kind of disappointed by how unimpressive the whole place looked like. Sparse ribbons of fog were lifting from the damp ground, a bird sang timidly and then shut up as if it was ashamed of its voice.

“Welcome to the gathering of people,” Eliot said from the other side of the pickup. “Do you remember the list of things-not-to-do?”

Quinn smiled and remembered last night Randy sat them down and went down to the list. Eliot hugged Quinn the whole time Randy talked about the proper powwow etiquette.

“I can’t still believe Randy thought I would be so impolite to point at someone!”

“Aunt Willa did,” Eliot explained and climbed to the bed. “I reckon that’s the only thing he could never forgive her for.”

Quinn chuckled, but Randy running to them cut his mirth short. Randy was wearing moccasins a sort of apron over his jeans and a vest with embroidered ribbons and that long pectoral decoration. The shine of his silver hair was glorious under the morning sun.

“About time, _Waya_!” Randy was screaming as he approached them at the full speed of his legs. “You have my eagle feathers!”

Eliot kicked the tailgate and looked at Randy the same way a disappointed father would look at an unruly child. Then he moved all the things Quinn dragged from the house for Randy to rummage.

“First of all, you shouldn’t lose sight of such important items!” Eliot chided Randy as he opened boxes and wicker baskets. “And last of all, if you shouldn’t drive like someone had shoved hot coals in your pants…”

“Shut, up, boy!” Randy cut Eliot’s rant. “Respect your elders and help me find my feathers! I can’t be seen half-dressed like this!”

“Fine!” Eliot admitted and helped Randy inspect the contents of their haul and thirty seconds later he took out a blue long case he didn’t bother to open before passing it to Randy. “Here they are!”

Randy let out a sigh of relief and jumped to sit on the tailgate. Eliot rolled his eyes, knelt on the truck bed, and put his hands on Randy’s hair. Quinn, both arms crossed over the side of the truck, looked how Eliot picked up a lock of fine silver and twisted it between his fingers. Randy, meanwhile, opened the case and showed the contents to Quinn. There was pride in his smile when Quinn made the appropriate appreciative face.

“I was given this one,” Randy pointed at a round feather tied with a piece of red string, “when I found my clan, my family. And this one,” Randy pointed now to the one marked with yellow string, a pointy feather that, if Quinn remembered his past as a _pionýr_ right, was a primary wing feather, “when some people recognized that my years meant something.”

“Those people can help you to fix your feathers just fine, uncle,” Eliot commented with acrid humor. 

“I can make do with you,” Randy said and he picked the strings with care. “Now, be careful, _Waya_.”

“I know,” Eliot half smiled and picked up the strings. “They are strong medicine.”

Eliot took the colorful string and braided the silver hair with it, tying it with strong and delicate knots. Quinn was marveled by how different Randy looked with that simple adornment; the old man didn’t need a full crown of feathers to look regal.

“There you are,” Eliot said, his hand resting on Randy’s shoulder. “Now you are dressed.”

“Good, because we are late,” Randy replied and extended his hands. “Give me the blankets.”

“Why did you bring blankets?” Eliot protested but passed five neatly folded blankets to Randy. 

“Why do you bring anything to a powwow?” Randy retorted and, after taking the blankets placed on Quinn’s arms. “Come, bring the tobacco bundles and the cedar. The elders must meet your choice!”

Eliot rolled his eyes, picked up a couple of wicker baskets, and put the tailgate up without any regard for the other stuff in his truck bed.

“Am I going to be loved?” Quinn asked when Eliot, arms full with wicker baskets stood by his side. Randy had already begun to walk without caring if they were following.

“You are already loved,” Eliot reassured and kissed Quinn’s temple. “This is just a formality.”

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

They walked to a clearing in the forest where a rope demarcated a perfect circle. Cedar, pinewood, and tobacco smoke filled the air. Randy stopped near a bunch of elder men that greeted them with cordiality. The old men exchanged words, Quinn was asked to deliver the blankets and the men examined them with great grateful expressions before they looked at Quinn and talked _at_ him in their language. Randy was smiling so Quinn gathered that was good.

Eliot left him with Randy after they were smudged again to help the people raise the stands. The elders, some of whom Quinn had met around Randy’s fire pit welcomed Quinn and, like Randy, began to call him _Yonva_ and Quinn allowed it with a small smile. He had used so many names through the years that another name really didn’t matter. By the time Eliot guided Quinn to a shaded place on the bleachers, Quinn was bedecked with a new collar and a couple of bracelets made of braided buckskin, one made of beadwork showing a quartered circle and a beaded necklace. Eliot also sported a beaded choker with a round piece covering his Adam’s apple.

“I want one!” Quinn exclaimed when Eliot let him touch those long white beads.

“You can have this one after the powwow is over,” Eliot promised and held Quinn’s hand. “I only want your solemn promise that you won’t use it in a powwow.”

“Why?” Quinn recovered his hand, feeling petulant.

“It’s for warriors and, as far as I know, you were not a soldier, and Randy knows it.” 

“Keep it,” Quinn said with a disdainful shrug. “I don’t want a thing that’s not for me.”

“There are plenty of things for you here,” Eliot protested and fixed his eyes on the circle. “Get up. Drums are about to start…”

The Drum Circle stood in a place of honor and the beating began to accompany the cries of the people as they danced around the circle, carrying flags and other ornaments. Quinn got lost in the rhythmic beat and his eyes surveyed the processions. Dancers with all the colors of the rainbow in their regalia followed a small contingent of veterans and Randy was among them. Eliot whispered in Quinn’s ear, informing him they were going to compete in different exhibitions. Woman with colorful dresses and shawls followed the men, their measured steps sounded like a cascade of metal. Graceful feather fans marked their steps.

The procession stopped and then the music changed. A sharp cry came from the main drummer and the rest of the team followed his cue. Eliot informed Quinn that that was the flag song, one they always sing instead of the National Anthem. Then there was a prayer and then the Emcee began a story that startled Eliot. The story was short and Quinn really didn’t have the time to ask before the lonely chord of a glockenspiel filled the arena. Eliot’s aunt's voice followed it and Quinn noticed Eliot was speaking over it.

“This is KNTO, the house of many people, _Osyio!_ ” Eliot was translating the message without noticing. “We welcome you to our house. _Osyio!”_

The drum began again with a slower rhythm, the people in the arena were singing a song with long vowels that Quinn felt deeply sorrowful. Randy had his arms crossed and his head bowed and Eliot, well, Eliot’s face was dry, but Quinn would have bet he wanted to cry. Quinn understood why Randy made a fuss about the feathers this morning.

“She was still so young,” Quinn heard someone say behind their backs. “Such a shame!”

“How quick ten years pass!” 

“I hope those white beasts rot in hell.”

Eliot turned around and stared down at the gossipy people. One of them, a woman let out a high squeak when she recognized Eliot. A couple of apologetic rushed sentences were muttered and Eliot looked at the circle without any comment. Those words added a new dimension to the song and Eliot’s reaction and Quinn slid his hand inside Eliot’s and held it. His solidarity was the only thing Quinn could provide.

The procession began to move again and soon the circular arena was empty. The Emcee began some blather to lighten up the mood, announcing the first contest was for the little girls. Randy had found a place in the first row, surrounded by other men of his age. Ten little girls were squirming next to the entrance, eager to begin the celebration.

Quinn, holding Eliot’s hand was not sure if he felt eagerness or concern, but at least he knew Eliot was holding his hand back.

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

By midday, Quinn had gotten the hang of the powwow mechanics. There was a contest, then there was a tribal dance, an intertribal dance, another contest, and the cycle continued. Eliot went to find them something to eat between shows and returned with a rich tasty soup made of beans, corn, and something else Quinn couldn’t figure out but it was awesome. 

From time to time a gang of girls in polychrome dresses came to them to pet Eliot’s hair and to ask him if he would let them braid his hair. ‘Later’ was always the reply, but Eliot finally granted them their wish and one of them stood between them and the other stood at the other side. For the next half an hour they amused themself braiding thin strips of Eliot’s hair by the side of his face, weighing them down with small beads. When they were done they asked Eliot to shake his head and they giggled when Eliot’s head made music.

“They always do it,” Eliot commented and tapped on the bead after they went away giggling like the kids they were, “I think they are nieces or sisters of the ones who braided my hair first when I was a teen. They think it’s funny.”

“It suits you,” Quinn commented and rested his head on Eliot’s shoulder. 

On the circle, under the sun and following the beat of the drums, a young woman was dancing with a flashy shawl over her shoulders. She skipped and the shawl flapped gracefully, like a butterfly dancing from flower to flower. It was beautiful, so beautiful that Quinn felt a crying bout threatening to come, but Eliot’s arm across his shoulders staved it off effectively.

Maybe an hour later Randy approached them from behind and squatted right behind them.

“No,” Eliot grumbled before Randy could make any sound. “Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

“They honored your aunt,” Randy said with an edge on his voice, “like the hero she was they did. It was a lovely honor song they sang and I’ll be sorry if I raised a boy who can’t say thank you as he should.”

“That’s blackmail, Randy.”

“Boy, I taught you to dance, because you asked me,” Randy said in a disappointed whisper. “Now, I ask you to dance as I taught you.” 

Randy grunted, got up, and started to walk down the stairs by the bleachers. Quinn straightened his back and looked at Eliot with, what he hoped to be, a quiet question in his face. Eliot looked at him like Quinn was asking about the cleanliness of his underthings, but then he took the hair from his face, sighed, and leaned forward. 

“Randy wants me to take part in a blanket dance,” Eliot explained and joined his hands between his knees. “It’s the way they raise funds for the Drum Circle and _Ani-yun-wiya_ Wolf Clan around here is four old geezers. A warrior dance with elder warriors, as poignant as it be, wouldn’t be the right way to honor my aunt.”

“Go and dance,” Quinn encouraged with a small shove. “I’ll be right here.” Quinn tapped the side of his head. “Taking pictures.”

“You won’t let me live this down, will you?”

“Not as long as I live,” Quinn admitted and noticed, too late, that he had tilted his head.

A smile bloomed on Eliot’s lips before he leaned forward and placed a quick peek on Quinn’s lips. Eliot got up and followed Randy’s lead. Quinn looked at the contest and clapped at the appropriate times. 

The Emcee invited the public to chip in and extended a colorful blanket over the grass. The Drum Circle began a lively beat and there was Eliot at the end of the line, without his shirt with an apron, like Randy, who led the way. Quinn looked intently, noticing they had added a pectoral decoration and moccasins and leather bracelets around Eliot’s big arms. Eliot looked… odd, not laugh-inducing odd, just very different, less secure, and much younger than his years. He was focused and burdened by the responsibility of that dance.

The dance lasted eight minutes, eight vigorous minutes, while those men crouched and zig-zagged and hopped. Quinn was sharp enough to notice that, from his point of view the dance looked like an ambush. His head noticed that, but his soul ached because each step taken at the beat of the drum hammered an unavoidable truth.

Quinn would never fit; he would never be part of something bigger than him, something this important, and he had not the right to pluck that vibrant, gorgeous man from a life so full of wonders. He loved Eliot Spencer to madness, but if he tried to capture him, he would behave just like his Father wanted.

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

Eliot parked in Randy’s driveway after a long day at the powwow. Randy had beaten them to the house and the garage door was closed. The house was dark and quiet, but Quinn knows that, as soon as they crossed the door, Randy would be there with a smile and would make that house feel like a home.

The thought was unbearable.

Eliot was ranting about one thing or another, Quinn wasn’t really paying attention because his belly hurt and his ears didn’t register a thing. Quinn was so subsumed by despair that he didn't even notice he had pulled his legs up to protect his hurting body and that he had been crying for so long that Eliot looked positively distraught.

“Come here,” Eliot mumbled and pulled Quinn into his chest.

Eliot didn’t ask what was wrong, he didn’t rant, he didn’t comment. He just pulled Quinn into his embrace and tried to provide a shelter with all the care he could muster.

“I need help…” Quinn sobbed and buried his face on Eliot’s shirt. “I can’t bear it anymore...”

“Ok,” Eliot said softly and ran his fingers through Quinn’s hair. “Do you want me to find any sort of help?”

“I need to get home but…”

Quinn’s head rushed through the numbers, he needed to land seven jobs in the next four hours to have enough money to pay his debts and his ticket to return to his place, which was not a home, but his refuge from the world. He was not fit to live among humans. The thought wrecked him, body and mind and tears came rushing.

“Don’t worry,” Eliot said, still petting Quinn’s head. “Whatever it is, doesn’t matter. I’ll get you home and you owe me nothing.”

Eliot held Quin and let him cry in silence for a long time. Quinn cried for so long that when he finished he felt like the husk of a man: empty, dry, and unable to hold anything inside.

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

It was still dark, but Randy followed them outside the next morning. When Eliot told his uncle that they had to go, Randy’s only reply was a nod. He got up and filled a paper bag with snacks as Eliot and Quinn picked up Quinn’s things. Eliot took the bag from Randy’s hand and hauled Quinn’s bag, bear and carry-on to his old pickup, without a hurry, but without a pause.

Quinn walked through that door for the last time. He, who crossed that door in full of anxiety, crossed it out feeling nothing. Randy stopped him before he could reach the steps of the porch and made him turn around. Randy looked at Quinn right in the eyes, with his slow, deep, gentle gaze, and Quinn wanted to hide his pain, but there was no use. That old man could read him like a billboard.

“ _Donadagohvi_ ,” Randy said after he wrapped the blanket he had wrapped the first day around Quinn’s shoulders. His smile was warm, but Quinn could taste the sadness.

Quinn didn’t even try to mutter the word, he just nodded and moved to the pick-up. Eliot looked at him, sighed, and went to hug Randy one last time. Quinn picked up his huge teddy bear and hugged it. The pain was manageable now.

Eliot climbed up, backed up the driveway in silence, and stopped in front of Randy’s house. Randy waved them goodbye and then Eliot started their way to the airport.

Eliot’s aunt's voice became a distorted cry when the signal overlapped with a more powerful station.

Quinn, clutching the bear Eliot won for him, wished he could have tears to say goodbye to the closest thing he had known to be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, sorry, not even Eliot Spencer could hug post-traumatic stress disorder away, and Quinn's right: he needs help.


	4. The house that waits for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot and Quinn parted ways in Portland; Quinn thinks he should put the photo album in his mind to work, and Eliot finally spit it out. 
> 
> Let us hope it's not too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _1600 hundred miles to cry it out;_  
>  _1600 miles until the airplane touches down;_  
>  _To relive every moment since the day we met;_  
>  _Remember how forever felt, and then forget._  
>  ~ Bering Strait's "When going home"

Quinn looked at his reflection on the glass doors that divided the airport from the gates. He should feel comfortable inside his suit, his armor against the world. His face looked composed, unmoved, reasonably handsome, even with the long hair and the hollow cheeks. 

He felt wretched, there was no way around it.

Inside his breast pocket, a direct flight, first-class ticket waited. Eliot wanted him to go home in full comfort. He had even paid for the delivery-to-home from the Oklahoma Airport of Quinn’s plush bear and blanket and all the little trinkets he had amassed from this travel. They shared a quiet meal while they waited for the check-in desk to start operations. His suitcase was safely in it’s way to the belly of the plane.

It was a matter of minutes now…

“Take a sip,” Eliot invited and passed him a mineral water bottle. “It’s a long flight, and you need to keep hydrated.”

Quinn complied and took a long sip. Eliot was right; his heart worked better in the heights if there was something to fight the diuretic drugs.

“I wish you could stay,” Eliot mumbled and his reflection on the glass looked as miserable as Quinn felt.

 _So do I, drahoušku_ , Quinn admitted to himself and suppressed the gulp. _If I stay, I’ll saddle you with my sorry and sorrowful ass and you deserve better_. There was something stuck in his throat. _It is better this way: you saw me crumble. You must be more than ready to let me go, this way you don’t have to deal with my tears. They make you uncomfortable, I noticed._..

“Mental health is way cheaper” _back at home_ “in Prague.”

“Send me a message if you need anything,” Eliot offered with a small nod. “That’s all I need.”

“I know,” Quinn took a deep breath. “I must go to my gate.”

Eliot nodded and extended his hand like he was about to shake Quinn’s hand. Quinn looked at the hand, looked at Eliot’s face, felt how a sad smile tugged the right corner of his mouth, and then put the bottle in that hand, walked inside Eliot’s space, and hugged his boyfriend for the last time.

Eliot trembled and hugged back. Quinn could hear the fluttering of Eliot's strong brave heart against his chest, the unique smell of his skin, and the way his hot sigh caressed his neck and how his arms surrounded Quinn and held him close, and for a second—just a fleeting second—Quinn felt safe and whole and worthy of love. 

“ _Snesl bych ti modré z nebe, drahoušku, protože si to nejlepší v mém životě_ ,” Quinn whispered the whole truth into Eliot’s ear and it felt like he was breathing his last gasp. “ _Opravdu mi budeš chybět_.”

Eliot slacked his hug and Quinn knew this was his chance. Quinn disentangled himself from Eliot’s arms before the cogs stopped turning inside Eliot’s head. Ticket in hand Quinn breezed through security. He crossed the metal detector and was safe at the other side of the security barrier when he heard the dull sound of the bottle against the carpeted floor.

“Quinn!” 

Eliot’s shout made Quinn quake _If I turn around, I won’t go into that plane, miláčku, and if I stay, I’ll destroy you…_ , but Quinn kept walking without turning his head.

“Dammit, Quinn!” Eliot’s furious exclamation sounded so far away.

_Nemůžu bez tebe žít..._

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

Quinn rested his head in that comfortable seat in the first-class section and closed his eyes. Tears threatened to spill, but his reserves were spent and none came rolling down his hollow cheeks. Quinn took a deep breath and, behind his closed eyelids, he saw Eliot. Eliot in his jeans and plaid shirt, the early morning sun pouring through the dirty windshield, painting his hair with streaks of gold. _Panebože_ , that man was gorgeous!

 _And he was yours_ …

Quinn smiled at that ludicrous thought. It was like claiming property over the Sun and the rainbow. Eliot only belonged to himself. Quinn looked inside and Eliot’s smile bloomed as it did, with Eliot sitting on his own bed, looking at his phone. Quinn would never witness that smile again and that was such a shame…

The plane began to move. The seat by Quinn’s side was empty, at least he would relax because no one would like to have human interaction when he didn’t even have a book to pretend he was reading. He had too many things to think of. Maybe this time he would get a tax rebate and he could cover another month. Maybe he could call his father and taunt him so badly he wanted to end what he had begun. Quinn would even change all the passwords to his birthday to make it easier, it was obvious he couldn’t remember his wife’s… Eliot appeared in his mind, under the summer sun, smiling and lifting a beer to his lips…

 _He will get tired of you someday_ …

 _No, he won’t_ , Quinn replied to that spiteful woman. He couldn’t even remember what she looked like. _I’m about to become the best thing I can: a memory. I’ll cause him pain from time to time, like that rib I broke him, but he will wipe his brow and will play Robin Hood a bit more to distract himself. He will get used to my absence; maybe he would cherish my memory and remember me better than I was._

The pull of the lift-off barely distracted Quinn. He sunk into the padding of his seat, offering no resistance to forces way stronger than he.

 _I’m so tired and homesick_ … Quinn thought. _All I want to do is reach my flat, open the delivery box, recover my bear, cover myself with Randy’s blanket, and go through my photo album. I want to sleep_ …

The plane had found its altitude; Quinn knew he was on his way to the place he belonged. It was on the other side of the world, where he couldn’t hurt Eliot Spencer anymore.

... _and I don’t want to wake up_.

_√v^√v^√v^√v^√v^♥^v√v^√v^√v^√v^√_

Eliot stopped to feed some quarters to a vending machine. It spat a cold bottle of sweet tea and Eliot picked it up because he needed liquids for his next task. He had parked his orange muscle car under the sun for a reason. There was no need to, lift-off was expected in twenty minutes, but he trotted toward the parking lot.

The Challenger was sitting alone under the sun on the third floor. Eliot moved to the front, used the fender as a step, and sat on the hood of his car, the bottle hanging from his fingertips. After a short session of meditation, Eliot recovered his phone from his pocket, opened the SMS service, and pressed the microphone down.

 _Hey, Quinn…_ Eliot started the same way he started all the calls he had ever made to Quinn. _I’m in the parking lot, sitting under the sun, waiting for your plane to lift off._ What good could that description make? Eliot was not sure. _Maybe you’ll get this when you land in Prague, and that’s OK. What I have to say will still be true half a day from now._

Eliot let go of the button. This was harder than pulling teeth. Maybe he was overthinking it, maybe he was too cautious. Eliot took a deep breath and chose honesty: he was angry. He had been angry for almost a week. Eliot pressed the button again.

 _First, you got it wrong, you dunce!_ Eliot spat those words he wanted to say on Shelley’s pool. _I wasn’t trying to tell: ‘This is my life and you don’t fit’. This whole trip was me saying: ‘I’ve made my own family and I want you to be part of it.’ I want to be angry at you, but I can’t…_

“...be mad at you for being sick!” Eliot said at the moment he noticed he had changed the hand that held the phone. “DAMMIT”

Eliot pressed the button again.

 _...cause you were right: you need help and this country won’t give a damn to help you._ Eliot continued realizing he was angry because he was scared. He was totally powerless to help Quinn. _You need to lick your wounds and pick up the pieces. You need to figure out a lot of things_. Eliot closed his eyes and wished, knowing that wishing was for kids, but there was nothing else he could do. _Please, figure out how you would fit in my patchwork of a family while you are at it_.

Eliot let go of the button and covered his eyes. The sun was too bright, it was annoying. He meditated a bit more and resumed his task

 _Second, I know what you did that day by the lake. I might not know enough Czech, but I’m learning._ Eliot made a small pause. _I think you tricked me into saying what you wanted to hear. Why do you want to hear a lie?_

This time, Eliot barely took a couple of breaths. He had to be honest again, knowing that this was the worst time to exercise his right to be blunt, but he was sure he couldn’t find a better time to say his piece

 _I don’t believe in love, Quinn. Love doesn’t make sense to me. I can only offer you what I have._ Eliot felt his voice drop. _I offer you commitment. I offer you loyalty. I offer to look after you and to be patient. I have chosen to spend my time with you_ …

Eliot stopped and took another breath. Yeah, that more or less covered it, but he better explain further so Quinn won’t get it mixed.

 _I’m a patient man. I can wait for you._ Eliot tried to enunciate clearly because he wasn’t sure anymore if he was making any sense. _I know you have things to work out and places to clear from the clutter of your old life._ Eliot nodded, more to reassure himself than for Quinn’s sake. _I’m a patient man._

Eliot was about to put his phone into his pocket, open his sweet tea, and set himself to watch the lift-off when he noticed he hadn’t addressed the thing that got him going. With a sigh, feeling naked and exposed in this empty parking lot, Eliot pressed the button.

 _Third, I don’t know what you whispered in my ear, but I have been upset since you spoke your last words_. Eliot stopped when he felt his voice trembling. _You didn’t turn around when I called your name_. Eliot sighed. _You left me wanting to light up a cigarette_. 

Maybe that won’t cut, Eliot never told Quinn about cigarettes and his sense of loss. Disappointed, Eliot pressed the button again.

 _If this is the end, so be it. I wish you success and happiness and I only ask you in return to make it clear: tell me to get lost or else I’ll keep waiting to feel your vibration pattern in my pocket_. Eliot felt his shoulders dropping. _It doesn’t feel too much to ask for_.

“I want a cigarette so badly…” Eliot confessed to the empty parking lot.

Instead of looking for a cigarette, Eliot twisted the cap and took a mouthful of the tea.

“Here goes nothing,” Eliot cheered to himself and pressed the button one more time.

 _Finally, because you wanted to hear it so much, and because I couldn’t find a way to say it in the last ten days_ : miluji te, miluji te, miluji te, miluji te, miluji te...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My grandmother taught me that every human being has four houses: _The house that bred you_ , meaning your family, the place you was born in; _The house that welcomes you_ , meaning the society you choose, the friends you make, and the family you marry in; _The house you built_ , in this case, the one you fix yourself and where you raise your kids and make your life; and finally, _The house that waits for you_. Being my Grandmother an old-style Catholic, she meant the heavenly homeland, but with this ending, I don't think this is the idea here.
> 
> I'm as eager as you surely are to know which house Quinn chose once he gets Eliot's messages.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
